A post popped up on my time hop the other day from six years ago reminding me that my daughter nearly beat me in a foot race on a playground. She was about 11 years old and the 50 yard dash was closer than I had anticipated. Fast forward to now; she’s a junior in high school. She can smoke me in any sprint distance. Not too long ago, she was gearing up to start training for track season, and I thought it would be so fun to go on a run with her. I had planned about 5 miles; as a high school sprinter, she only was going to run 3-4. I started my run early and looped back to pick her up. Off we went up the first hill. The pace was steady, but I could tell she was holding back a bit. (I despise hills no matter how much I work at them–for evidence read this: Strength Running, Episode 57 – The Complete Guide to Hill Workouts ). We made it to the turn-around point and I asked her if she wanted ME to pace HER for a fast finish. I think she pretended she was tired because she agreed to do so. Within the next 400 meters the sky opened up, and it started pouring rain. Ya’ll. I don’t do rain either. Basically, 45-50 degrees and sunny is my wheelhouse. She took off. She had a fast finish. I slopped home, soaked.
I had envisioned a new running buddy. Long runs where we would chat and catch up, and I would take her to brunch. But, twas not to be. She’s too fast, likes all the short runs, and I realized I should probably stick to runs with my mom friends (Find Your Tribe: Benefits from a Running Group).
I saw her running ahead – ponytail swinging back & forth. Her arms were pumping, and her foot kicked out a bit awkwardly like mine used to (I swear I fixed it until I see race pictures). She looked beautiful, strong, and self-assured.
It’s a metaphor, really. She is running away, but with all my blessings. She’ll occasionally need me to pace out a route, but she knows which turns to take. I don’t know if she’ll ever end up making a right on Hereford, left on Boylston, but I do know she’ll always know the way home.