My Runner Girl

Oh look!! That’s my 12 year old daughter leading the pack at her first cross country meet!

 

Looks like it, huh? But that’s not really the case. Though you cannot tell from the picture, she’s actually coming in last. Well, third to last to be fair. Out of a group of what appears to be 40ish pre-teen running girls, she is clearly one of the very last.

The race starts off down the track so I’m craning my neck over the fence to get a look at the scrambling legs, pumping arms, and determined faces as they go by. They pass quickly but I don’t see my girl. So I follow the group with my eyes and think, darn… how did I miss her? But then I see that I didn’t miss her at all – there is a significant distance between the group and her skinny galloping legs as they finally chug pass. “Go Peyton!!” I yell loudly to her. She smiles sheepishly at her feet, and I can’t help but think of her toddler-self, running through the park in this new cotton shirt she had with the buttons in the back, and these delicate little embroidered flowers. Back then she ran everywhere because it was fun. Her cheeks would turn bright pink, and her blonde hair would trail in wisps behind her. Very much like now, I think.

In all honesty, I was surprised she wanted to do cross-country. Because cross country running is HARD... And she’s never done a running sport before. Personally, I had no inkling or desire to run for fun until well into my 20’s. In middle school I wanted nothing more than to eat Funyuns and watch the A-Team when I got home.  But Peyton is ambitious, and a little renaissance lady to boot -- she likes to try it all. Last year she went out for drama, orchestra, track, swimming, and managed to keep up with Taekwondo. It doesn’t matter to her if she’s never done the activity before. She bravely shows up and joins.

The girls are making another loop around the track. The big group zooms by, breathing hard now…  Peyton makes her way around in what seems like 45 minutes later. “Go girl!” I yell again. She looks like she is running her heart out and believe me, I know it’s my mom pride, but I’m feeling like she looks just as fast as the other girls. The distance between her and the pack is growing though, and so I begin to think of the pep talk I will need to give my girl when this race is over. I know she will be crushed. Because it is one thing to bravely join the cross country team with no running experience…  But it’s another thing entirely to come in last place (third to last) with a significant audience bearing witness.

It’s important to come in last a few times in your life, I will tell her… I find I’m reminding myself of this, too. Because it is hard to watch your kid eat dust. Let’s make one thing clear; I am no stranger to defeat. But each loss I’ve experienced has fueled my desire to come back stronger. Losing is a very valuable lesson – sometimes more valuable than winning… This is what I’m thinking I’ll lead with on the ride home. I’m formulating a kick-ass pep talk as the girls run off the track and onto the road for the second part of the course.  I’m also thinking that probably Peyton will catch up a bit while they’re completing the off-road portion of the race. She will maintain a steady pace while most likely the other girls will have to slow down a bit. But as they start to trickle back on to the track for the final lap it becomes clear that my theory doesn’t hold any water. The big group flies by and then duke it out for the finish.

Then, crickets.

One-one-thousand.

Two-one-thousand…

A few more girls make it back to the track. But no Peyton.  Just when I’m starting to get a little worried, I see her – her ponytail swishing behind her, her arms pumping and her legs turning. Really… say what you will, but for coming in almost dead-last, she looks great.  “Go Peyton, go!” I cheer over the fence. “Finish strong!” And I see the determination in her eyes as she picks up her pace and finishes with a kick that would make Prefontaine proud.

“Well I think it’s just GREAT,” a Dad next to me says. “You know, when kids do things that they’re not good at? Because my kids will only do sports they know they will be successful at.” He stands there smiling and nodding as I am mentally putting the final touches on my Losing is Important Pep Talk. And I sort of want to tell him to shut up. But I know (or at least I hope) he means well so I smile and say, “Yep.”

Peyton finds me on the other side of the fence. Her shoulders are a bit hunched and as I suspected, the disappointment is evident on her face. I smile and say, “I’m so proud of you.” I whole-heartedly mean it, but I feel like it sounds canned. “My foot hurts and feel like I’m gonna throw up,” she offers as we walk to the car.

The truth of the matter is, I am very proud of her. I’m proud that she wanted to do cross country in the first place, that she goes to practice each day, and that she finished her first event without quitting.

“You know,” I begin. “Losing can be more important…” But I can see she doesn’t want to hear my orchestrated pep talk, so I stop. What she really wants is some ice cream and a hug. Both of which I’m more than happy to comply with.