The woman i call mom

I take in a deep breath and up my speed; I feel my heart beating and my blood pumping throughout my body. The sea is by side and waves crash with every thought that crosses my mind. People are scattered each doing their own thing, as I pass through and make way for a proper path. I have just started running.

I think about all the times I fell and she picked me up, about my natural childhood and the rules I used to hate. I smile at the incidents where she found me funny, and let me get away with something. I thought about the times where she was working, studying and taking care of the family all in the same day. The times we had to be silent because she needed to prepare for an exam. And just as well, the times we used to nag at night after she had had a very tiring day, and we would get her upset. My mind was going on and on about different incidents of my childhood, and sometimes I was one very irritating little girl.

As I run I picture different families, so many moms chasing after their kids, some scolding them, others laughing with them. The sight is never boring, especially when you are speeding through all these stories, and only get a glimpse of each one. The random happiness, the innocence and sometimes the mischievous moments all imprint images in my head.

I have always been so proud of her and her achievements. I look at all these women with little kids, and the sacrifices they might have given. But not my mom, she always kept her dreams and her priorities straight. Married at a very young age, leaving school and travelling to a new country was just a beginning. Continuing her education and working, along with raising me and my brothers was no doubt hectic.

On a lighter side, having a mom who teaches in a university and who is working on a PhD is no pressure at all for self-improvement! To have an educator, a friend, an athletic coach, a cook, a clown, a comforter, a police force, an investigator and a debater; all in one woman is amazing, don’t you think? Well, I live with all these people and I call them mom.

I grin as I run, for that is an interesting idea. I find my self falling back in my speed for my heart is heavy and my legs are beginning to tire. But when I look to my side I find a beautiful woman, her cheeks pink from the exercise and her eyes meet mine. She flashes a huge smile and gestures that I move faster to keep up as she passes me. My mom out runs me.

As I watch her go, she suddenly slows down and looks back, I feel like I am five years old again and I run to my mom. She puts her hand behind my back and pushes me forward as she runs. The laughing is tiring both of us, for we realize the irony in that and we love it. A few meters later, we both cross the finish line with blazing faces and spirits booming. That was the end of the 10 Kilometer marathon, and that was my mom pushing me through, because she knew I can make it. That is the woman, I call mom.

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