It started Friday night at the Expo packet pickup. My boy was an aspiring marathoner.
He became an official marathoner. In 3:56.
My brother and younger son ran along side him outside of the course for the last .2 miles or so. And I didn’t bother to try not to cry.
Lots of love, support…and pain.
And, as only an offspring of mine would, as he laid there hurting in the grass, he swore off running, pointing out the stupidity of it all. But before he’d poured syrup on his pancakes at our post-race breakfast, he was already looking to improve his next performance.
I love my family.
And I love so much what running has done for us.
Running is now part of our familial fabric. I’ve watched my kids push themselves beyond reason — and accomplish more than I’d imagined possible. And let’s face it, I’ve accomplished more than I’d ever thought possible. We’ve supported each other, providing encouragement and motivation whenever is needed. We’ve celebrated each other’s accomplishments and partied for each other — even when it’s just a solid training run.
Who would’ve thought that an exercise that is often used as punishment in other sports would be one of the magical threads that binds our family together?