Keagan's dream of running track has been realized, and since he
has begged me to sign him up for track since he saw the summer Olympics of
2008, I am relieved that he finally meets the age cut-off and I don't have to
hear his persistent cries of "just let me run." This week I have
actually looked forward to another event (ie: track practice) on our calendar.
Here's why.
On MLK day, he was up way too early, donned his athletic wear, and told me he needed to go out for some fresh air. I knew that was code for he wanted to go for a run. I specifically told him he could run to the bus stop and back, but no further.
Ten minutes later I didn't see him, but I assumed he was running the route several times.
Fifteen minutes later he was no where to be seen.
Twenty minutes later I worried.
Twenty-five minutes later I threw off my robe and my PJs, threw on my own athletic wear, and I took off in the car in search of him. I was not a happy camper because although I knew it was already 8:01, I also knew there wasn't anyone up that early in a military town on a federal holiday, and here I was searching for my son on the cold, dark streets. It was a day I wished I could have looked at Wes and say, "Go find your son!"
I found him at the bus stop, though, after he had run a two mile route...twice.
I got on to him, and I am afraid I was really harsh. He looked at me with those big blue eyes and said, "I can't help it, Momma. I just gotta run."
He is now running, and running more than I ever thought possible for a seven year old. Tonight he ran three 100 meters, three 200 meters, and two 400 meters races. He won them all. He came home and said, "Mom, this is hard work, but I love it. Really love it."
Love it all you want, Baby, as long as you learn to hate it on federal holidays.
On MLK day, he was up way too early, donned his athletic wear, and told me he needed to go out for some fresh air. I knew that was code for he wanted to go for a run. I specifically told him he could run to the bus stop and back, but no further.
Ten minutes later I didn't see him, but I assumed he was running the route several times.
Fifteen minutes later he was no where to be seen.
Twenty minutes later I worried.
Twenty-five minutes later I threw off my robe and my PJs, threw on my own athletic wear, and I took off in the car in search of him. I was not a happy camper because although I knew it was already 8:01, I also knew there wasn't anyone up that early in a military town on a federal holiday, and here I was searching for my son on the cold, dark streets. It was a day I wished I could have looked at Wes and say, "Go find your son!"
I found him at the bus stop, though, after he had run a two mile route...twice.
I got on to him, and I am afraid I was really harsh. He looked at me with those big blue eyes and said, "I can't help it, Momma. I just gotta run."
He is now running, and running more than I ever thought possible for a seven year old. Tonight he ran three 100 meters, three 200 meters, and two 400 meters races. He won them all. He came home and said, "Mom, this is hard work, but I love it. Really love it."
Love it all you want, Baby, as long as you learn to hate it on federal holidays.
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