hero

I watched and cheered yesterday as my eldest son had enormous success as a runner. I can't run these days. I am in a season of healing, at best, a season of limping at worst, while I deal with a painful injury to the cartilage and tissue behind my right knee cap.

He, my eldest son, has not been running much this Fall. He maybe runs once or twice a week with his mother. Usually finds an excuse not to get out there on the roads and trails. We don't argue about it much. He has school and soccer and more importantly, I don't want to fight about something as joyful as running. If you don't want to get out and train, don't. I want to get out and train, but this is not about my running, or lack thereof.

He looked effortless and smooth through until after the finish line. He was breathing hard, but his stride never fell apart. Clearly, an Autumn as a midfielder making crosses and square passes works for some cross country racing. He came to find me quickly after the race for the breakdown of how it went and what I thought. That a 14 year old will still give me a post race hug is about as good as parenting gets.

Sons want to share athletic successes with their fathers. I wanted to do the same. Talk to my dad right after. Or if he wasn't present, give him the long version, the play-by-play.

He's my hero. Running well on, well, very little running.

I want to have headphones in and do a track workout to this tune -- My Hero by the Foo Fighters.