I’m not a hero.
I mean OK, sure, I haven’t run in over a year.
I still can’t walk up the stairs without getting winded from the pneumonia I had five months ago.
I put a crib together today.
But my boys are in a youth track club, and today was the mile. And you think I wasn’t going to run with them?
They split the kids into two groups based on grade. Luckily for me, large child and younger child are just far enough apart to be in separate groups. That means two miles for this guy. My wife didn’t think that was necessary, but I’m a man of integrity. And more importantly, a father, so I knew what duty demanded of me.
Younger kid didn’t want me to run with him unless I had to in order to time him. I did not need to, so all of that mental prep was out the window. He ran well and took second to some absolute freak of nature. I was proud of him, but it was time to run with large child and we of course had to beat his brother.
As we stepped up to the start line, it dawned on me that the sub-8 minute mile that younger child just ran might mean trouble for me. Large child is more of a sprinter, and I’m more of a power walker. After one lap it was clear we weren’t beating him. It was about 5 minutes ago that I realized he probably didn’t want me to run with him because I was just going to slow him down.
We needed to finish our mile though. After two-and-a-half more tough laps, large child did what he does best and sprinted the last 100M with a wicked kick. By the time I had crossed the finish line, I had officially been defeated by my 7- and 9-year-old in a race.
What a tough day. I knew I’d start losing to them at some point, but the thought didn’t even cross my mind that it’d be today. What the hell. I’m washed. What I need to do is just have another kid to boost my self-esteem and put a few more in the W column.
But this post isn’t about me. Nice job boys. Real proud of you.