Wheelchair racing finals kicked off Friday at the Rio Paralympics with the women’s T54-class 100-meter sprint, in which China’s Liu Wenjun narrowly inched out American standout (and world record holder) Tatyana McFadden for the gold. It was the first of seven wheelchair racing finals at Olympic Stadium this weekend, and you should watch them all, because wheelchair racing—in which athletes with amputated legs, spinal cord injuries, or cerebral palsy use their arms to pedal three-wheeled handcycles—is awesome.
It’s fast
Usain Bolt’s average foot speed in the 100-meter dash, man’s fastest race, clocks in around 23 mph. Handcycles take more time to reach top speed, but longer distance races run faster, turning slogging battles into high-performance long sprints. The men’s wheelchair racing 1,500-meter world record, averaging 19 mph, is thirty minutes faster than that of the traditional track event. Joggers deteriorate, but wheelchair racers accelerate.
It’s hectic
If tightly packed huddles of world class runners jockeying for inches of position sounds stressful, try cutting corners through a morass of five-foot-long tricycles. Passing demands precise control over front-wheel positioning amidst clotted machinery and pumping arms. Angled tires bounce off each other in the scrum. It’s more Mad Max than Chariots of Fire.
It’s inclusive
Like all Paralympic events, wheelchair racing includes several levels of competition for different levels of impairment. T51 athletes have minimal upper body function, T52 and T53 athletes have slightly more power in their arms and legs, and T54 athletes—like McFadden and dominant Brit David Weir—are paraplegics with normal hand and arm function. The sport modifies its rules and bike types for each classificiation, equalizing the playing field for different ranges of disability.
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Grieving couple comforting each other
This response to someone grieving a friend might be the best internet comment ever
When someone is hit with the sudden loss of a friend or loved one, words rarely feel like enough. Yet, more than a decade ago, a wise Redditor named GSnow shared thoughts so profound they still bring comfort to grieving hearts today.
Originally posted around 2011, the now-famous reply was rediscovered when Upvoted, an official Reddit publication, featured it again to remind everyone of its enduring truth. It began as a simple plea for help: “My friend just died. I don't know what to do.”
What followed was a piece of writing that many consider one of the internet’s best comments of all time. It remains shared across social media, grief forums, and personal messages to this day because its honesty and metaphor speak to the raw reality of loss and the slow, irregular path toward healing.
Below is GSnow’s full reply, unchanged, in all its gentle, wave-crashing beauty:
Why this advice still matters
Mental health professionals and grief counselors often describe bereavement in stages or phases, but GSnow’s “wave theory” gives an image more relatable for many. Rather than a linear process, grief surges and retreats—sometimes triggered by a song, a place, or a simple morning cup of coffee.
In recent years, this metaphor has found renewed relevance. Communities on Reddit, TikTok, and grief support groups frequently reshare it to help explain the unpredictable nature of mourning.
Many readers say this analogy helps them feel less alone, giving them permission to ride each wave of grief rather than fight it.
Finding comfort in shared wisdom
Since this comment first surfaced, countless people have posted their own stories underneath it, thanking GSnow and passing the words to others facing fresh heartbreak. It’s proof that sometimes, the internet can feel like a global support group—strangers linked by shared loss and hope.
For those searching for more support today, organizations like The Dougy Center, GriefShare, and local bereavement groups offer compassionate resources. If you or someone you know is struggling with intense grief, please reach out to mental health professionals who can help navigate these deep waters.
When grief comes crashing like the ocean, remember these words—and hang on. There is life between the waves.
This article originally appeared four years ago.