Growing up, I was not athletic. Even a little. I played softball (for the town, where everyone got on a team), but I relied on my size more than any athleticism: I had a lot of weight behind me so I could hit far enough that I wouldn’t have to run fast in order to get on base (think Babe Ruth, but without the booze). And I was usually the pitcher or catcher, so I didn’t have to be able to run quickly when my team was in the field, either.
My sister, on the other hand, was athletic. It was one of the many things about her of which I was always jealous (in addition to being smart, talented, popular, thin, beautiful, and still nice… you know the type…)
She used to run with my dad, who was quite the runner in his day. He once ran a 5k in just over 18 minutes – incredible! Once or twice I joined them on my bicycle and I still couldn’t go as far as they did.
I always knew my father loved me but it was clear that we didn’t have much in common… not like he and my sister. I felt like I was a disappointment to him in that I was overweight and had zero interest in athletic endeavors. I always preferred indoor activities, like drawing and television watching.
There are so many wonderful things about my ‘new’ life. One of them is that I finally feel like I have something in common with my father besides money (we’re very fiscally oriented).
He insisted that everyone go for a run the day after the Turkey Trot. Just a quick one-miler, to ward off extreme soreness. Everyone else came up with an excuse not to go, so it was just us. And for the first time ever, I ran with my dad.
I’m sure he never thought that he would run with this daughter, just like I never thought that I would run with him. It was great! I hope it happens more often.
Unfortunately, he stopped running years ago for a reason – he has bad knees. You never know though, right? He managed a good walk/run effort for the Turkey Trot and then that mile the following day. I think there’s hope!
