The Wheels Of Life

Gary Smith: For the 1,036th time, the 70-year-old man and his spastic quadriplegic son await the starting gun's crack. It's a Good Life! say the big letters on the two larger wheels on their racing chair. But neither man can be sure those words aren't a lie when they're still, and gather truth only in counterclockwise motion.

The race director introduces them—Rick and Dick Hoyt!—and the spectators and 582 runners roar. It's September 2010. Breathe in. Breathe out. The old man's just hoping he can do that all the way to the finish line, that the pillow doesn't come down over his mouth and nostrils again. The gun sounds, and they're rolling: It's a Good Life!… It's a Good Life! … It's a Good Life! …

Curse the potholes in the streets of Worcester, Massachusetts. Twenty feet into the Canal Diggers 5K the ruts are jolting the chair, banging Rick's fragile body and making the front wheel crazy. Dick swerves to avoid the potholes, doesn't notice the front tire going flat and slipping off the hub, and they begin gathering speed: It'saGoodLife!It'saGoodLife!It'saGoodLife! …

The grind of metal on macadam finally reaches his ears. Two hundred yards into the race the old man murmurs an oath and veers onto the sidewalk. He halts and stares at their motionless chair.