We found our way to Plum Cove Beach ten minutes before a group of our daughter’s friends pulled into the parking lot an over-stuffed SUV. It was well before the waking hour of many a college student on a Saturday morning, and the weather that greeted the cheering squad was less than welcoming. The temperature trying to reach 40 degrees has the could opened to rain. The water in the cove beside the halfway point of the Gloucester half marathon was rushing its night caps to the shore. Beside the porta potty, parka-wrapped volunteers offered paper cups of water and lemonade amidst the chanting lyrics of Bon Jovi on automatic repeat, “we’re halfway there!”

As we greeted our daughter’s friends, I remarked upon the windy, wet cold, but no one complained. Instead, they looked tired, but happy as they pulled their hoods over the heads and extracted their hand-crafted signs from the trunk. Despite the marathon traffic, everyone had arrived with ample time to spare, and after checking locations of the runners on our phones, we gathered back into our cars for some warmth as we waited for the impending descent down the hill towards the cove.

Back in the car, I began to think about how lucky our daughter was, while intermittently worrying about her leg, which had a tendency to go numb through over-use. How lucky she was, I thought between worry, that she had these remarkable friends who chose to spend a cold, rainy, and very early Saturday morning watching her run a half-marathon. Friends she had met less than two years ago, but whose bond was forged with the strength of shared joys and hardships experienced through college life that included their first year studying abroad together in London.

We made our way, parents and friends, back out into the blustery elements well before the anticipated trio crested the top of the hill. While my husband and I positioned ourselves for optimal photography, the younger crowd gathered with signs and smiles on the opposite side of the road. Where, I realized later, they would be able to sweep the tired runners into their arms for a brief embrace before they continued on. My husband and I, positioned to be voyeurs rather than active participants, were in for a rare treat.

In our twenty years of raising our children, my husband and I have been witness to a multitude of moments filled with the highs and lows of friendship. On this marathon morning, we were poised to watch the wonders of what friendship can be at its finest. More than once. There we stood, as our daughter turned the corner and began her descent down the hill. Her eyes, immediately zeroing in on her group of friends never wavered from their destination as her tired (and numb) leg(s) carried her down to the bend near the cove and into the opened arms of her cheering friends.

Never once, in those moments of passing the halfway point did our daughter turn to notice her parents were also there, which, in my mind, was more than okay. In fact, it was, in my eyes, perfection. Every loving parent wants to give their child the best of the world, but one of the gifts we cannot bestow upon them is friendship. And here we ware watching the best of the best of that precious gift. Friendship not only found, but forged with the bond of loving support.

With two eyes brimming with unobserved tears and a heart filled with renewed warmth, I headed back to the car to begin our journey to the finish line. Finding ourselves once again with ample time to spare, I was able to observe how much my body had relaxed its tension. Sure, I was still worried about our daughter’s physical wellbeing, in particular, the leg that had been a chronic issue, but my worry had was mostly replaced with the knowing that she was running beside and backed by friendship.

And suddenly there she was, making another turn around a bend in the road with her two companion runners nearby. With about 300 meters to go, I could see the fatigue in my daughter’s gait, and doubt began to tug at wonder as I watched with breath held as one leg, and then the other pulled her forward. At about the 200 meter mark, I heard the voices of her friends as their bodies matched her stride to bookend her. “Come on, Ava,” they called out to her, “You can do it.”

That was the moment awe returned and fiercely shook away doubt. First one hand, and then another, grasped the hands of my daughter and held fast as three sets of legs made their way to the finish line.