I've been up since 5am and I really should be napping right now. I tried to lay down around 1:30pm but the noise from the television (because my husband is watching the Masters) and my youngest daughter is coughing every few seconds because she has a cold and I have these very long winding thoughts in my head that I need to write down before I forget. So... here it goes...
Let's go back to around 2015 when my oldest daughter was 5 years old. My husband and I wanted her to get involved in a sport. We both thought soccer would be a good fit for her, so we signed her up on a team at our local YMCA. I remember her being super excited that she could hardly stand the wait for her first practice. That first practice came and I was so happy to be in the background with camera in hand taking pictures and cheering her on. And then it happened. That soccer ball was kicked in her direction and she ran. Not towards it but away from. So terrified that it was going to hit her in the face. She finished the season and got a medal for participation. You know... every kids a winner and they all get medals. She was just so happy to be part of a team.
We signed her up for soccer the next couple of years thinking she would toughen up a bit. You see, when it comes to the game of soccer, you have to be a little aggressive. You have to run to that ball, you have to want to kick that ball away from the other team so you can score that goal. My poor girl was still so terrified that ball was going to hit her that she would run away from the soccer ball. Not a good winning tactic when it comes to the game of soccer.
My husband and I decided that soccer was just not going to be her thing. In fact, any competitive sport where there was a ball involved was not going to be her thing and we were o.k. with that.
Let's fast forward to 5th grade. In the spring, her school introduced a new track program for any fourth and fifth grader who wanted to participate. I thought, that sounds like a good fit for her because there's no physical contact with a round object. So, she started running. And she loved it. That girl loved running laps around that school track. It wasn't a legal sized track but that didn't matter to her. She had such a fierce competitiveness to run as many laps around that track as she could. And this mom and dad were thrilled that she had found her sport. When she lined up with all her team mates and that gun went off that signaled she could start, she was off.
She signed up for track when she was in the fifth grade and she loved it just as much. She had that desire to run as many laps around that track as she could. With each meet, she wanted to improve her time. She had that desire to win and her mom and dad were so proud of her when she crossed that finish line.
Let's flash forward again to when she entered 6th grade. Her school offered cross country and track and she was ready to run. She got her first sports physical and I signed all the permission papers to get her registered and bought her a good pair of running shoes. She still had that fierce competitiveness to do her personal best. Her coach would take them on 3 mile runs so her team could build their endurance. She was tired and out of shape from a long hibernation of not running. Every day she got stronger. Every day her time would improve. Every day she could hardly wait to tell us her running story of the day. She was excited.
She continued running throughout her middle school years. That would be 6th, 7th, and 8th grade for Ashland. She loved it. She had a passion for running. She had that desire and fierceness in her to do her personal best. Long distance running had become her "thing."
A few months ago I asked my daughter if she wanted to compete in the Pear Blossom Run. "Heck yeah!" she said. Let's do this! And so, I signed her up for the 5K. I picked up her first race bib the other day and pinned it on the front side of her favorite running shirt. My husband picked it up a few years ago and on the front it says "VICTORY." Very appropriate don't you think? It looks really small on her now but she loves it. I have a feeling that girl is going to wear that shirt until it won't fit over her head anymore.
We arrived a half hour early. The race started at 7am and I wanted her to have time to warm up.
There were over 1,300 participants for this race and I wanted her to have a good start. So, I had her get as close to front of the line as she could. I wanted to be able to see her take off amongst the crowd of people that filled the starting line.
She was all warmed up. "You got this" I told her. She was ready for that gun to go off so she could do what she loves to do. The gun went off and she was gone.
I knew it would take her about 20 minutes to finish this race. I was so nervous for her. I watched the clock with anticipation. 10 minutes. Ok, she's about half way here. 15 minutes. my heart was racing. 17 minutes and the first runner crossed the finish line. In fact, the first runner was a young man from her school. A 15 year old crushed through that ribbon at 0:17:59. I was so proud of that young man. So proud it was one of her team mates from her school. 20 minutes and I could barely stand myself as I watched the flood of runners cross the finish line. And there she was. I saw her with her "VICTORY" shirt and I cheered her on with tears in my eyes because that was my girl. That was my girl who had found her passion. That was my girl who had found her nitch. As she crossed the finish line, the announcer (who happens to be her coach, how cool is that) said her name, "MCKENZIE MOORE FROM ASHLAND HIGH SCHOOL" and I was flooded with emotion. She finished at 0:22:49 and I was so proud of her. She finished 65th out of 1324 runners. Not to shabby for a 15 year old and I was one of the happiest mothers around filled with such pride for a girl who is growing into a young women who loves to run.
She said she was satisfied with her run. She said she didn't hit her personal record but she was so happy to have participated in her first Pear Blossom Run.
You go girl, because "you got this." I will always be there to cheer you on.
Love,
Mom
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