Recently I was challenged by my 7-year-old to run in a one-mile marathon.
Here is the thing about challenges from your kids:
- This isn’t just a challenge in the physical sense but a mental challenge as well. A challenge of the wills.
- The moment you say no you may lose some of the Super Hero status that you have built up over the years.
- We are both competitive so rejection will not WORK.
With all that being said you can see why I said yes to said challenge. I wanted to lead by example. Which meant I would have to run with her.
She trained at school and I “trained” at home.
The morning of the big race comes. We have on leggings and T-shirts. I have packed our water bottles, bottles of water, taken allergy meds and we are ready to go.
We line up at the start line and take off.
By the way, when I say take off I mean we may have been together for about ten minutes before she activated her turbo jets, looked behind her at me, waved and took off with her other little 7-year-old friends up the big hill.
The hill that I wasn’t expecting. The hill that I did not train for. The hill that my 29-year-old legs were screaming for me to skip. The hill that knocked the breath out of me and had me looking for “shortcuts” on the race route. The hill that had me wishing that some of the route guards would turn their head so I could switch to the other side of the street.
Now, once I got to the top of the hill and took several deep breaths I realized that down hill wasn’t so bad. I walked a bit until I realized that the woman that was 5 months pregnant was gaining on me. Fast.
I picked it up to a trot, then a jog, back to a walk. Then I saw the finish line in site. I started running.
Turns out that wasn’t the finish line.
Then I saw it again. False alarm. Although I did find the EMS at that spot.
Finally, the finish line ahead. I jog, I run, I cross and I cry.
Not because I finished. Not because I’m proud. It is because my legs feel like two matches that have been lit. It hurt.
Then I felt it. Little hands. Morgan is hugging me. Saying I did a good job.
Makes me feel good. Like it was worth the pain, sweat and a few curse words.
Okay, a lot of curse words.
Until she looks up and says “I beat you.”
I tell you this because two x-rays, crutches, a leg splint and a stress fracture later I would say that I would do it all over again for my baby girl. Just to show her I tried and that she can do anything she puts her mind to even if it hurts. A lot.