ZuPlusTwo, Fit Friday…a guest post by Mom

(Meg hopes to be back with us next week for her regularly scheduled postings; this week has her assisting on a wine judging event.) 

…..

 

It’s not about the distance; it’s all about the

pace

…..

Well, it is obvious Megan is in great shape.  She’s been a workout enthusiast for as long as I can remember.  Oh, she’ll joke and say otherwise, but I know better.  She’ll discount everything because she always felt a bit lagging behind the rest of the pack no matter what sport she attempted.

But try, she did.  Beginning with sidewalk races on a big wheel, to cartwheels and tumbling in a  Pre-K gymnastics class.  As the years progressed she became a bit more dedicated.  Volleyball struck her fancy in middle school, and while she will try to convince you that she was the most awkward, worst player on the B-squad, she will forget to impart upon you that at least she played.

High school arrived, along with the infamous Coach Carter.  A notorious soul that demanded early workouts and completed ones, to boot.  (Can I tell about the morning you ran home in the middle of the run to return to your room, to your bed and hiding your head under your pillow, crying copious amounts of tears? … Oh, that’s right.  I’m not allowed to mention that because you tell me that it never happened.  Is this where I remind you to get yourself out of bed and showered, back up to the schoolhouse and begin your study day?  No?  Okay.  I guess I don’t get to talk about meeting with Mrs. Carter to discuss Mr. Carter.  Somehow I think this post will NOT be posted, and you will dismiss me from being your mother.  Surely, I do not recall things, correctly.  ;)

Well, obviously before high school, and cross-country, there were track meets at middle school.  (I purposely jumped ahead of my storytelling for a second so that I could set a stage for you, the reader.  There is a valuable message in my words going forward.)

One evening, there was a track meet, middle school, and Megan was part of a team running a relay.  Sorry, I can’t remember the length of the relay, but I can recall the most important aspect of the challenge.  I stood among a group of parents cheering the teams on, and screaming at the top of our lungs as the kids crossed their finish line(s). As all races are known to do, there will be those that flash through to victory in no time flat, then another wave of go-getters cross the finish line, and still then, there are those that are giving it their all, bringing up the middle of the pack.  We parents cheer faithfully for all, because of course, we know the feeling of victory is not in the winning, but the completing.  That dash, the one we can recall from our own pasts.  Cheering continues, but the roar is lessening as those that have completed their run move toward other venues or road trips homeward.  Those of us on the sideline note that not many runners are still in pursuit of the finish line, but little do we care as long as we note that our child is still out there giving it their all.  Parents begin communicating with pack like mentalities, “Which child is yours?”  We shout feverishly as those keep their paces and realize their goal.  Soon I find myself on the sideline along with one other parent, actually, a teacher/friend.  There’s only one child still pacing herself, just one.  Trying feverishly to complete the race, not so much to say that she has ‘done it’, but more likely to say, ‘she survived it.’  Two mothers are shouting, hoarse by now, but thoroughly dedicated to the victor, my daughter.  Last one home, but first place trophy winner in the heart of two moms who knew the value of the completed effort. (No one ever loses when they keep trying, that is a mama’s motto written in stone and over two thousand years old.)

Okay, let’s head back to high school, Coach Carter, early morning runs.  Cross country meets, and then some.  Let’s talk about the trophy*.  The one she earned in high school.

“**Actually, if I recall correctly, that trophy is for a race I did at the Trinity River one summer during college.  I won my age division, but I might have been the only one my age running the race ;) **”

(Amended statement by Megan…thank you, honey.  I told you my memory is fuzzy.) ;)

The one that still sits in my daughter’s room.  She received it for competing on a team. I want to bronze it and set it up on my mantle like a baby’s first pair of walking shoes. My daughter wonders why I even have it.  Little does she know how proud I am knowing that she refused to give up, oh sure, there was that one time when she ran home, covered herself up and hid her face and tears within her pillow.  It takes a mom to understand that too.  I did.  I do.  And I am still waiting for Coach Carter to call me instead of directly me to his wife’s office.

A winner, defined.

A winner, defined.

Yes, Coach Carter.  I still have something to say to you.  Oh, the words have changed a bit, I’ve aged and Megan has matured into a fine young woman.  While M1 may have been a tad bit slow with her mojo, she never failed to show her resilience.  She blossomed later and continues to amaze. Oh, now Coach, don’t go and get the wrong idea about this griping old lady, her mother. The morning I asked if I could speak with you, I simply wanted to tell you that this academic child spent HOURS studying.   This abbreviated her sleep hours, but was to guarantee her the grade point average necessary to be accepted into the Honors College at Oklahoma State University.  Now she’s working towards her second marathon.

Thanks for coaching Megan.  I wish you and the Mrs. the very best!  :)

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~ by coffeegrounded on July 11, 2013.

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