“Family Fun Run,” a fundraiser at Gompers Elementary where he attends First Grade. The event was divided into two separate “runs,” a 1K race for K-2nd graders and a 5K race/stroll for middle schoolers and their families. We arrived for the 1K without any expectation of really racing, or even running, for that matter; at best, I thought Ben would jog for half a block, and then collapse into an exhausted, heaving heap.
Ben, however, had other plans.
We showed up just as the 1K was about to begin. At the word “Go!”, we were still 10 yards away the from the starting line, where about 100 kids were massed. I told Ben, “Dude! Start running—we’ll catch up!” And he was off like a rocket. He quickly caught up to the gaggle, then disappeared into it.
That was the last I saw of him for the next 10 minutes.
The 1K consisted of two laps around the large city blocks occupied by Gompers. After the kids took off, a contingent of parents began walking after them, many of us assuming that along the way, we’d happen upon our stalled child, huffing and puffing and through teary eyes asking if it was okay to stop. With Ben, I assumed this encounter would occur shortly after the first turn of the first lap. But as I pushed Lauren in the stroller to this marker, we saw that Ben wasn’t there. And he wasn’t there after the second turn, either. In fact, looking ahead down the street and around the third turn, I could see no sign of Ben. “Where’s Ben?” asked Lauren. Good question, I thought.
Slightly concerned, I cut across the Gompers playground to get back to the starting line, which had been turned into a water table. Surely I’d find Ben there, guzzling from multiple Dixie cups. Nope. Could it be? Had Ben already completed his first lap?
The race was to end on the Gompers playground. To get to the finish line, the kids had to enter an opening in the gate right after the third turn. So Lauren and I quickly made our way there, hoping to catch Ben. We arrived just as the runners at the front of the pack were showing up—and there was Ben! He was sweating and burning with very pink cheeks—but he was smiling and going full blazes. I stopped him and celebrated him. “Did you run the whole way?” I asked. He nodded yes. “Way to go!” I yelled, giving him a hug.
Just then, a kid passed him, and that’s when it kinda hit me: This is a race—and Ben was at the front of the pack!
“Whaddyadoing!?” I yelled. ”RUN!”
Ben took off again, and when he spotted the finish line, I saw him turn on the afterburners. Way to finish strong, I thought. Catching up with our little Carl Lewis at the finish line, I gave him a big hug and told him that I was very proud of him for working his scrawny little butt off. I thought that was the end of it…
…but then we heard that there was going to an awards ceremony after the 5K race. And that’s when it really hit me: This was a race—and they were actually keeping track! By stopping Ben at the gate, had I cost him a better finish?
Perhaps. We showed up at the awards ceremony just as they were giving out medals for the 1K—and we heard them call Ben’s name! Turns out he finished third place overall, and second place among First Graders. As you can see from the photo, Ben was pretty darn pleased with himself—and his parents and sister were very proud of him, as well.
There was a small price to pay for his budding track and field superstardom. Ben had a soccer game later that afternoon, and it was pretty clear to us that he didn’t have his usual wheels. His team lost 0-3, which was an improvement over last week’s 0-7 blowout.
Lessons learned:
No more “Fun Runs” on soccer game day.
And save the proud parental hugs until AFTER the race.
Lots of love,
Jeff, Amy, Ben and Lauren
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