(note from Sister Eging's mom -- rough week for Sis Eging; no weekly email but she wanted to post this poem. If you have a moment to drop her a note I bet she'd appreciate it, extra prayers would be great too).
By Vaughn J. Featherstone
The average runner runs until
The breathe in him is gone,
But the champion has the iron will
That makes him carry on.
For rest the average runner begs
When limp his muscles grow,
But the champion runs on leaden legs.
His courage make him go.
The average man's complacent when
He's done his best to score,
But the champion does his best and then
He does a little more.
After tennis with an investigator on PDay.