I'm not sure why my youngest child's races bring out an especially tender side for me, but maybe it's because she is probably never going to win a race or finish among the leaders, yet she runs on, doing her best, and finding ways to feel good about her performances in personal, not competitive terms.
Today, on one of the roughest courses in the city, which includes running up a steep set of steps three times, through sandy soil along the edge of a golf course, and then weaving through narrow sidewalks that allow few chances to pass the runners ahead of you, she started out way in the rear of the pack, by my count 42nd or so among under 50 girls in her age group.
By the end she had passed over a quarter of those ahead of her to finish as #31, and she "kicked" to the finish line in impressive fashion.
Of course, there are no rewards when you finish 31st in anything in this life. And since our society rewards success and competitive achievement above all else, you might be forgiven for thinking I would not be especially proud of this result.
But you would be wrong. I am very proud of her.
She really isn't built to be a runner; she's stronger than most girls her age and she is still growing. What she may not have in pure speed she has in endurance -- I can see that if she chooses to continue running in the future she could be a pretty good participant in long-distance races.
Because she gets better as the event proceeds.
Anyway, as much as it's fun to see your child win a game or a race or some other accolade, the real joy in the experience is just being there with her. I ran into various friends, there rooting for their daughters and sons, and revisited the campus of the school where my two older daughters attended for their elementary years.
It was a cool, foggy afternoon. A giant wave of the white stuff rolled in over the Pacific, coating the western half of the city and keeping the runners comfortable, even as those of us watching started to shiver.
As always, as a single parent, I had no partner there with me to witness this event, nor anyone to talk about it with afterward, except you, dear reader. Thanks for listening.
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