Johnny Agar had always dreamed of competing in triathlons (铁人三项赛) as an athlete. Unfortunately, he’d been diagnosed with cerebral palsy (大脑性瘫痪) shortly after he was born. This disorder makes it difficult for the now-28-year-old to get around. However, he and his father are proving that where there’s a will — and a lot of love — there’s a way!

Jeff Agar, 59, is helping Johnny experience life to the fullest by entering triathlons by his side. As a team, they’ve completed over 200 races, including a full ironman triathlon that required them to swim, bike and run 140 miles in just 17 hours.

“I’m not a fan of triathlon,” Jeff joked. “I’m doing it not because I love it. This is Johnny’s dream and I’m giving him the legs and the power to do it.” Although Jeff typically provides the majority of the manpower, it was important for Johnny to cross the finish line on his own legs. “Walking in races was my way of telling Dad, ‘Okay, I’m not just going to say thank-you anymore; I’m going to actually put words into action,’” Johnny said.

Johnny and his dad now form Team Agar, using their story and the power of motivational speaking to inspire others. “When we completed that 140-mile Ironman together, it had an amazing impact on many people who had seen our story. We began to see that competing isn’t just about us crossing the finish line; it’s about helping others leave uncertainty in the dust — even those facing greater obstacles than we did.”

Earlier this month, they received some incredible news. They were invited to compete in one of the toughest triathlons: the Ironman World Championship! What made the occasion even more special was a pre-recorded video message from Johnny’s idol, athlete Peyton Manning. “Rumor has it that you’re a big fan of mine,” Peyton said, “I’m a big fan of yours as well! You guys are incredible; you’re a true inspiration.”

“Tell me the story of me, Momma,” my daughter Sophie always asks when we sit on my grandmother’s rocking chair at the end of the day. “The first time I saw your beautiful face, it was nearly covered by a blue-and-white hat. You were surrounded by a soft blue blanket (毛毯). All I could see was a rosy face.” “And I looked like a tiny fairy baby?” she asks. “You did, and you weren’t older than a minute,” I always answer. “The nurse handed a tiny little girl to me, and I was so surprised because you felt so light. I thought if I threw off the blanket, I’d find no baby there at all, only air.”

From that moment, I became a mother. But that moment was just special and magical as if she’d come from my body directly into my arms. From that day on, she was my daughter in every way that mattered.

It’s easy sometimes to forget there was another mother out there with whom I share my title. Sophie’s birth mother, who was also my friend, lost her life to cancer not long after giving birth to Sophie. And I’ll never forget that it was her difficult decision—her tears and her pain— that made me a mom.

As my daughter grows, she will understand that sometimes life is a relay race (接力赛), and you never know who in this world will hand you your baton (接力棒). It could be someone you know for years, or it could be someone who you even never meet, someone you will never be able to repay for giving you the life you always wanted.

I was surprised to find the congestion (拥塞) outside Layla’s primary school was unusually absent—I’d driven right into a parking space, and I was on time, for once. The school bell rang, and in a moment a stream of children made their way through the gate. But something was different—the kids were piling into vehicles in threes and fours.

Before I could enquire my daughter Layla, Mr Trent, the deputy head, approached. “Mrs Pavis, did you not read our letter?” Letter? What letter? I had a history of not looking out for them, and not reading them in most cases. “The letter? Of course. It must have just slipped my mind—I’ve been away with work.”

Now I was digging around in Layla’s messy schoolbag at home. Eventually, I found several letters, all addressing the same topic—parking outside the school gates. Apparently with some parents parking illegally, the police were about to get involved. “Why didn’t you give me these letters?” I demanded. Layla shrugged. “I forgot.” I was about to launch into a severe lecture when it occurred to me that I had always forgotten—I had forgotten to give Layla her money for cookery that morning and forgotten to hang out the kids’ washed clothes.

I contained myself and figured out that they wanted the parents to car-pool (拼车). I spent the next half hour ringing round Layla’s friends’ parents, enquiring if they would like to car-pool with us. Unfortunately, they were all sorted. It was my own fault—I should have read those letters ages ago. “Er... I overheard others talking about it,” Layla said, “They said they didn’t know who would car-pool with us, because we’re always late.” I flushed instantly. We were a disorganised family, and I was the one to blame.

I resolved to change. With responsibility for my kids, I find I am never, ever late. It’s good for Layla and for her older brothers, and it’s good for me, because now I never leave the house unprepared. I’ve even started checking the kids’ schoolbags for notes from school.