This Will Drive Me to Drinking

If I wasn't responsible for driving my track star to the quick track at 0830 for a regional track meet, I would have had my first drink at 0800 because this morning at 0745 Keagan decided he no longer wanted to run track. He put on his soccer shin guards and his Gator uniform and declared himself ready for the drive to Savannah. It took 30 minutes and even more threats to get him into his track shorts and Rockets shirt. Even after I pushed him into the car, even after I said multiple prayers on the way to post, even after I explained that his track team needed him just as much as his soccer team, he was inconsolable about missing soccer. An hour later, after a hard run, after stretching, and after warm up laps, he was still crying about it.

Thoughts of a libations entered my mind again at noon. I was cold. It was raining. And Keagan was still begging me to drive him to Savannah to play soccer with his brother. I was ready to gouge my eyes out. No one told me track meets could be so painful to sit and watch; no one told me it would be so hard to miss a soccer game.

And then this happened.

My nerves were shot. My hands began to shake. I started praying.

I was near faint because this was the 400m race, and after three weeks of track practices, he has never run or trained for this race. Sweet Jesus, what were the coaches thinking?

He got third place, though. Yeah!!!

Just a few short minutes later, his name was called again.....for the 800m. Having never run this race either, he looked at me with big eyes, and asked, "How far is that, Mama?"

"Two laps, Baby." As he ran to check in for the race, I yelled the best piece of advice I had, "Don't sprint until the second lap." And then I paced and paced, and for the third time today, I wished I could take a swig of something strong.

He got second, though!!! Yeah!!!

After five hours of sitting and waiting and even after all that success, he looked at me and asked, "Can we go already? Maybe we can make the last soccer game."

Yes, I think it's time for the drink.

White Boys Can Run and Jump

Keagan's First Track Meet...He was so nervous this morning, he let his brother eat his blueberry waffles. There was no Leggo my Eggos in this house.

He ran the 50 meter race and got second place, but I swear to you that he lost it by the tip of the other boy's nose. He ran the 100 and got first. He ran it in 16 seconds flat; the Georgia state record is 14:56. My heart was fluttering with the news. He crossed the finish line, and I wanted to scream, "That's my boy!" But of course our matching pale skin color revealed that secret without my uttering a word.

Keagan's field event is the running long jump. He is serious about the long jump....just like he's serious about his meats. Just look at that face. The other boys are looking at bugs in the grass, and Keagan has his eyes locked on the sand pit.

The boy was flying in the air like he had done this for years. How does he do it? I remember attempting the long jump when I was in seventh grade. I swear to you that I jumped less than five feet, and that's when the coach realized there was really no hope for me and gently suggested I give the discus a try. I did, and on the second day of training, my aim was so off, my disc hit a fellow track team member in the knee. I think that's when I was told the 800 meter would be my event. How can Keagan make it look so simple? He won the running long jump with a 9-1 jump, a full foot short of his record, I might add.

I kid you not. I overheard one parent ask another, "Have you seen the white boy run?"
"What's he run....the 800?"
"No, Man, the boy runs sprints, and he's actually fast."
"Really? Hummm. Don't see that everyday."

Guess who asked me to take him to the track tomorrow to train?