Meet Skipper, my almost 10 year old. Like many, my boys are affectionately nicknamed. Skipper’s passion for music and his natural rhythm – he even feels the rhythm of the wheels on his bike – led to his. He plays the piano, sings in two choirs (three in January), volunteers with a primary choir and is auditioning for a jazz band.
At this time of the year, I have to revolve my runs and races around his practice, performance and rehearsal schedule. Today was the first day of giving up my Sunday morning runs for the next few weeks.
Coincidentally, today was the first day of many races that I wanted desperately to do. The Hannukah Hustle took place in Hamilton. This is the race where I pulled my calf muscle last year, resulting in my one and only DNF; I did finish – walking – but I didn’t cross the finish line. I wanted to go back this year to run the 5K or the 10K to redeem myself.
On the other side of the GTA (Greater Toronto Area) was a 5K and a 10 miler taking place in Whitby. A good running buddy was racing there and, as much as I wanted to run with her, I couldn’t; it was logistically impossible.
Part of my reason for running 15 miles last night was so that I wouldn’t give in to my racing addiction and find my way out to Hamilton, but I needed more to hold me back. Even before going to bed, I contemplated calling a friend to take Skipper and Little Ironman to Church so that I could; if I ran the 5K, I thought, I could probably get back by the end of the service and take LI home while Skipper practiced for the December concert.
Instead, today remained a day to wear my mommy hat. With pride, I watched Skipper stand with a group of girls at the front of the Sanctuary and sing. With love, I sat through the sermon with Little Ironman who just wasn’t in the mood to go to Sunday School.
With jealousy, I heard from friends who raced well this morning and wished that I were with them.
And with acceptance, I realize that Skipper’s busy music schedule is forcing me into some goal-driven training for the next few weeks. Last night, I met one of them; tomorrow, I chase down my second: hill repeats. Neither I could do well if I had planned to race this morning.
One Sunday down; two to go. Then, it’s my turn again.