My grandfather had M.S. For the ten short years that I knew him, I had never seen him move his body without aid or assistance. His life (as I observed it) transpired as an oscillation between his bed and a wheelchair with time outdoors reduced to a luxury steeped with limitations. It was never easy seeing him so helpless and imprisoned. To this day the memory of his misfortune and lack of mobility motivate me to keep moving forward both as a runner and as a person.