More than a Mom

The runner’s jog past me, eyes downcast and shoulders sagging. It is the 20-mile mark, the most challenging leg of the 26.2-mile race. A cheer from the crowd perks them up, and the marathoner’s posture changes, making their feet a little lighter. I clap along with them, but my eyes scan the horde for the only person I truly care about: my mom. I see her in the distance, her powerful legs moving rhythmically as she approaches the checkpoint, her arms pumping. “GO MOM!” I shout out excitedly. My dad and brother join in, and we continue cheering in unison until she’s right in front of us. Breathing heavily, she acknowledges us with a smile and continues on, body and mind resolute. She has more than three hours of non-stop running behind her and still more than an hour left to go. As I watch her round the corner, I think to myself for the millionth time: My mom is a superhero. 

I’m pretty sure most people who have a good relationship with their mom probably think theirs is the best on the planet, and that’s how it should be. I am no different. I grew up believing that my mom was perfect, and even as an adult who can finally recognize the humanity in her, my opinion hasn’t changed. When I was a kid, my mom gave my brother and me everything. And by that, I don’t mean toys and treats, though there were plenty of those. I mean, she gave us her time, energy, and soul. My parents ran their own business when we were growing up, yet they somehow managed to revolve their lives around us, and my little brother and I were always busy. Soccer practice, theater camp, cross-country skiing—we did it all. One of my mom’s top priorities was making sure my brother and I had a good education, so she enrolled us in Kumon, an individualized math and reading program that assigns daily homework that you complete as well as your regular schoolwork. She was firm, disciplined, yet the most considerate woman imaginable, with a smile that could melt the coldest disposition. My mom was born and raised in Korea, and was stoic while simultaneously highly emotional. She has amazing self-control, but my favorite moments are when she allows herself to be goofy, belting out a laugh so loud and joyful you can hear it from the next room. When she was happy, it was infectious; when she was angry, I ran for cover. To this day, she has the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known. 

My mom wanted the world for me, and I often feel sad that, in certain ways, I’ve let her down. I’ve never achieved the good, reliable job she wished for me. Instead, I chose the life of an artist, and—well, you know how that goes. Despite my life going differently than she’d hoped for, no matter what path I choose, she’s in my corner, supporting me. She always answers the phone with joy, and with each birthday card, she reminds me how happy she is that I’m her daughter.

Regardless of how much my mom sacrificed for her family, the one thing she didn’t give up was her love for running. She’s easily run over 100 marathons, is now in her early 70s, and is currently training for a race that’s even longer. I was born and raised in Alaska, and my mom would wake up early to run in the snow in freezing (sometimes negative) temperatures before taking us to school. She loves music; her favorite genres are pop and top 40, and it always makes me smile at how artists like Ed Sheeran motivate her. The amazing thing about my mom is that she never stops moving. You know that quote from Newton’s first law, ‘an object in motion stays in motion?’ That’s her. Running’s not only her therapy; it's a way to energize herself so that she can always be active. Exercising, working, cooking, driving, cleaning, snowshoveling, and educating—she never stops. And she does everything with a smile. 

My mom is truly the strongest, kindest, and most intelligent person I know. Whether she’s crossing the finish line of the Boston Marathon or feeding my little dog tiny pieces of salmon she’s picked off the bone, she is my hero. My main motivation for being successful, whatever that looks like, is to make my mother proud. But she makes it easy—no matter what, she never fails to tell me how much she believes in me. Honestly, if I could amount to even a quarter of the person she is, I'd be satisfied. I’m not there yet, but I’m working on it.

Mom, if you’re reading this, thank you. I will love you forever, and always.