Running has never been my thing. I mean, I have done it and enjoyed it, but I never took it seriously. It was just something I did while living in Norfolk; a means of exercise on the weekends. Nothing more, nothing less.
Wow… what I have been missing!!
First, hot men run!!
Sunday morning I spent about 4 hours milling around, watching, and supporting a 5k race and half marathon. During those 4 hours I saw some very amazing examples of the male body. We are talking eye candy ladies – from my fellow spectators to those actually racing. Thankfully I had a child by my side throughout the morning or… well, perhaps I might have been doing some shopping over just gazing.
Second, the running community is so very different than the ballet community!
These are nice people. I didn’t see a hint of politics nor did I hear a negative comment. I didn’t detect much of a blood thirsty, must be better than everyone else, attitude.
What I did see – people smiling. I saw people doing what they love to do. Men ran with strollers – twins and triplets nonetheless, women ran with friends, friends laughed and chatted, and people had fun!! (Not to mention all those great male bodies…)
I spent Mother’s Day morning surrounded by men and women and kids who appeared to love life. They ran, they watched, and they chatted. We all listened to music. There was a lot of support going around on such a beautiful Sunday morning.
The experience was wonderful in general. I found myself wondering why I had not attended a race before and – where are all these men when they aren’t running? (Probably at home eating oatmeal, which I hear is easy to make and good for you!)
However, the purpose of my attending the race was not to check out the men or observe the running community in action, it was to support my own runner as she attempted to best her time from last week in a new and different 5k. I was there to support her in doing something she loves – running.
Run is exactly what she did!
While mom was noticing the men… (Ah… men), the Diva was stretching. She was doing her warm-up cartwheels. She was preparing to run a “real” race. (Her previous race was school sponsored where this race was in a different part of Northern Virginia).
My daughter ran. She grabbed water from the station, and kept running.
As she approached the end of mile 2 she stepped in a pot hole and… fell.
Her partner grabbed her, pulled her up, diverted her attention from the tears forming or the blood dripping, and reminded her of the race, the work, and all that she has done to get to where she is.
My daughter bit her lip and started running.
After 28 minutes and 38 seconds (besting her time by 2 minutes) my daughter crossed the finish line, bloody knee and all.
While we cleaned her knee, women who were running around her stopped to ensure that she was okay and to congratulate her on her run. (Did I mention that the running community is supportive and very cool?)
When my daughter’s name was called as the winner of her age group, tears filled the corners of my eyes. I didn’t care that she had finished first in her age group. I didn’t even care that she had finished second in girls 8-13. The tears were happy tears because she ran. She did something she loves. She finished the race despite being hurt. She set a realistic goal and completed it with determination.
The tears in my eyes resulted from the pure wonder I have in the notion that this child is from my body and my heart. I don’t always know from where my daughter came as she is sometimes so different than either her father or myself or our lifestyles (neither of us run or rock climb or do ballet), but I feel amazingly honored to share my life with her and that she shares her life with me.
It was a Mother’s day I will never forget!