It Caught me Off Guard

I almost didn't write this story.

I can name several reasons not to...

The first reason would be because my Prince may hate it.  He will likely get caught in the details I deem unimportant.  He will probably be embarrassed and want me to NOT say parts of the story.

But, some day, in his future...he needs to know.

So I'm writing it.

At the beginning of this school year, his 7th grade year, we told him he had to pick a fall sport.

See, he's a lover of the couch.  He likes video games and TV and movies.  He's an amazing student and a talented communicator.  But he is not an outside-loving kid.

I want him to be active and on a team.  I am convinced teams and shared purpose with teammates teach skills we cannot otherwise learn.

His options were football, cross country, or girls tennis.

He chose cross country.

In 7th grade, being on the cross country team means daily practice and weekly meets.

It's awesomely active.

It's an entire sport of running...so it's hard.

But it's doable.

At his level, the race is 1 mile.

So, here's the part he won't like me writing.

Running isn't easy for him.  And he doesn't particularly love to run.

Some 7th grade boys are really fast.

My Prince finished his first race in 11:21.  Not dead last.  But very close.

His time isn't the point of my story.

The point of my story is this:

As the gun went off to start the very first race of the season, my eyes (against all control and choice) filled with tears.

I tried to cough it away.

I mentally tried to count days until my next period (I know, lame) wondering if maybe it was hormones.  I was baffled.  I was crying.  Against my will.  At a middle school cross country meet.

But the next week, at the next meet, I did it again.

And again.

It's a real thing for me.

I cannot go to a cross country meet and hold back my emotion.

I mostly feel stupid.  I wear sunglasses and run to my car as soon as it's over.

You may have stopped reading this story 4 sentences ago.  But if you didn't, if you are wondering what could possibly be so emotional about a pack of middle school kids running around a field, I will tell you.

This group of kiddos, all dressed in identical uniforms...ALL of them...line up at the starting line.  The 5:55 minute finishers and the 11:21 minute finishers line up shoulder to shoulder.  There is not an A team and a B team.  There is no bench.  There is no "put me in coach, I'm ready!".  **Before anyone gets all pissy about my comparisons to other sports, don't.  I love basketball and football.  I love the kids who choose those sports.  I don't think the whole football team should abandon football to join the cross country team.  I simply have an emotional reaction to this sport.**  When the race is about to begin, the entire team lines up and waits for the gun to fire.  As the shot rings out, every single kiddo runs the same race, has the same job, struggles with the same hills and turns.  They suffer together, yet they are each running their own race.

And then my eyes get cloudy and tears threaten to spill over.

Every single meet I watch the coach, a young man not yet a father himself, take off.  He runs to various points along the race to encourage his athletes.  He pushes each one to keep moving forward, to fight for the next step, to struggle for his/her personal best...but he is beside them...running with them.

Today, just like every meet before, I stood beside the course and waited to see my brave runner go past.  I watched the first finishers go past with such intense speed.  I watched the next wave of kids go by, all in a rotation of jockeying for best times as they chase each other towards the finish line.  And then a break.  There is a short break before I see my Prince fighting his way to the end of the race.  Today as I looked out over the field, he suddenly came into view from around a turn, and right there, just outside the designated course lane, but beside him still, was his coach - running with him, pushing him, keeping him going.  And I lost it.

My Prince may not understand the significance of those few moments until many, many years from now.  But I was overwhelmed.  For today, if only for a few minutes, an adult shined his total attention on my Prince for no other reason than to. help. him. finish. well.  If only we always had the gift of a coach running beside us as we took hard steps when we weren't at all sure we could.

And the story isn't finished, yet.

There is more.

The last 100 meters of the race is lined on both sides with a sea of cheering fans.

Every single athlete...the one who finishes first, the ones who finish all on top of each other in a pack, the one who finishes very last...is cheered across the finish line.

And then it's over.

Just like that.

But it inspires so much in me.