In the early morning somewhere, I am always awakened by two sounds - one is the muffled sound of a wrench turning parts in a machinery factory, and the other is the soft sound of Wang Liancheng's running shoes rubbing against the road. This young man, whose clothes were soaked in engine oil, was measuring the distance from the tire mold to the marathon track with his footsteps. He was also measuring an ordinary person's responsibility for his family and his persistence in love.
He was once a husband who hesitated for a long time for a piece of jackfruit, a worker who compromised with life after his sports school dream was shattered, and a dream chaser who relied on his wife's meager salary to support training during the trough of the epidemic. Some people ridiculed his whims and labeled him "Wang Lianbeng"; others were always with him, giving him a registration form and a glass of warm water to give him the confidence to pursue his dream. He integrated the tenacity of a lower-level worker into every step of his running. He built a training ground with jacks and old tires in the garage, carving the "road that has not been practiced in vain" into his bones. From ninth place in the half marathon to PB in the international competition, from being ignored to being attended by millions of fans, he stepped in the mud every step of the way, but he ran out of the stars.
This is never a legend of extraordinary talent, but a long persistence of fighting against fate with love. The 42.195 Kilometers on the track hides the persistence at four o'clock in the morning, the hardcore training in the garage, the tears of crossing the finish line, the warmth of a husband and wife, the warmth of running in both directions with fans, and the unwillingness of every ordinary person to be mediocre.
I would like to dedicate this book to every ordinary person who is running around in life but never extinguishes the love in his heart. May we all be like Wang Liancheng, walking on our own track without stopping and shining brightly forever.
