By Ann cannon

| The Salt Lake Tribune

Remember how I told you I was going to run in Disneyland’s Tinkerbell half-marathon last weekend? Well, I did. And I did not die.

I know! I am a total rock star for not dying!

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Not only that, but I received the hugest, heaviest medal in the history of the world for not dying. Seriously, you look at my new medal and you naturally assume I won a prizefight at the MGM Grand. (And then you look at the medal more closely and realize there’s a fairy in the middle of it. So then you go, "Fine! Never mind about the prizefight thing!")

But whatever. My medal is still awesome. And it goes with all my outfits, which is also awesome, because I am wearing that sucker around my neck for the rest of my life.

The medal, however, wasn’t the most meaningful reward I received last weekend. Not by a long shot. That came during the run itself.

Somewhere around the seventh mile, I noticed two men running together just ahead of me. I noticed them because hello. They were MEN. Most of the people running in the Tinkerbell half-marathon were women wearing gauzy wings and sparkle ("Does this make my butt look fast?") skirts.

I also noticed them because both men were running side by side as smoothly as though they were astride a tandem bicycle taking an early morning spin through the pleasant streets of Anaheim.

And, finally I noticed these guys because they were all buff and muscle-y — just like Wolverine without the hairiness. Clearly these guys spent a lot of time in the gym working out. So why were they running at my pace?

"Dudes!" I wanted to say. "I’m a granny. For heaven’s sake pick it up and move to the front of the pack where you belong."

When I got closer, however, I noticed a thin white strap connecting the men’s hands. And then I saw that the runner on the right wore dark glasses.

Because he was blind.

His name and rank were printed on the back of his shirt, along with part of the U.S. Soldier’s Creed: "I will never accept defeat." His partner’s shirt read, "I will never leave a fallen comrade."

OK, I don’t know the back story here. I didn’t ask questions, because no one wants to be interviewed in the middle of a half-marathon. But I’d bet good money our captain had sight once. And now he doesn’t.

What can you say about life? That it’s hard? Unfair? Heartbreaking? Full of curveballs you never saw coming?

And what can you say about us as human beings? That we can be mean and venal? Narrow? Ignorant and indifferent? Prone to self-pity?

Sure. You can say all those things, and, of course, you’d be right.

But in our best moments we can also be noble and large-hearted in so many surprising ways. We can hang in there in spite of everything. We can say yes to the road ahead and make that journey meaningful for the people at our sides.