My oldest, who runs cross country at school and plays select soccer, ran his first 5K. I dutifully clapped for him as he crossed the finish line, but waiting for him to arrive I wondered why in the world anyone would get up this early on a Saturday morning to run. My son, on the other hand, finished the run with red cheeks, hair matted to his forehead, grinning only the way a pure adrenaline rush would let you. I enjoyed his pleasure; I enjoyed the clapping.
An hour later my son is still talking about how much he liked the run. He's talking about signing up for more. He's talking about new running shoes. We find ourselves in the local outlet mall checking out running shoes when my son says, "Look, Mom. The shoes are buy one, get one. We'll get a new pair for me and a pair for you." I wonder what in the world he thinks I need a pair of $100+ running shoes for; my husband is laughing. He's not being mean it's just that we've been married for over 20 years; he's heard me say many times over that I couldn't see running unless I was being chased, and even then I'd question how badly I didn't want to be caught. Yet, my 13-year old is going on and on about future 5Ks that we can eventually run together if I just buy these shoes.
Ultimately I find myself in possession of a pair of running shoes -- no one else needed a pair and the deal was indeed too good to pass up. I force a smile at my son as I carry the bag that feels far heavier than it should because I know that by buying these shoes my son believes I've decided to run with him, but I know that really I'm much more inclined to dutifully clap at the finish line.
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