Ok, so I’ve been really bad at tracking my runs this summer.
Work, stress, marathon training, life, and a big whippet-shaped hole in my heart. What do you want from a poor guy?
But run club started this week. No, not my run club. That started ages ago and (thankfully, and despite random setbacks and the occasional broken spirits) is a timeless rock in my flailing life. The run club that started this week was the elementary school club where Miss C has entered her second year of competition in the track-and-field division of the running-through-the-hallways-counts-as-training class of fourth grade extra curricular.
Wednesday was their first meet: a thousand kids, give or take, descending on Laurier Park for one-ish klick sprint races.
Last year, Miss C hobbled in near the back of the pack, more interested in the pre-race snacks than actually making a showing for herself.
But it was almost exactly a month ago when she bombed her first triathlon. Finished. Barely. Indifference followed by sullen disappointment.
I didn’t have much chance for a pre-race pep talk on this the first of the mass-start kid runs, but afterwards, after a finish so strong I almost missed the photo op because I didn’t expect her to come pounding around that corner at a full-on sprint towards the finish, she told me that she had actually, factually, indeed… ily set herself a goal. She pumped it up inside her head. She didn’t really even tell anyone, but then primed her little heart towards the effort, and… sub-100th… or a damn-spot better than she ever showed in her short life previously. She was proud. Dad was proud. Everyone was proud.
I let that pride bubble over and dragged my reluctant butt out for a late-evening run, pushed my own speed a bit faster than I felt like so near to bedtime, and figured I may as well start blogging these runs again.
A little kid-spiration for a chilly September night.