Suddenly, I notice a wheelchair next to ours. There's a teenage girl, most likely also with a broken leg, sitting in it. She smiles at my wife, who smiles back to her. It seems like a pleasant enough scene, but I know the real truth. This is now a race, and I will reach the top of the hill first.
Hunching down, I begin to push with all of my strength. My wife isn't heavy, but this steep grade is punishing even without a wheelchair. The Florida humidity clings to my flesh as the sun sears my face. I almost begin to run, pushing and pushing while trying not to lose my grip.