In the Spring, we told James, the seventh grader, that he would be joining the Cross Country team in the Fall. Notice how I phrased that last sentence? We told him he’d be joining. Yeah, we made him do it. Ever since his disastrous foray into the world of Little League basketball we’ve been allowing him to avoid any sort of team sport. And we’ve subsequently watched him become more and more Zen with the couch and his laptop. He has plenty of good friends but it was beyond time for him to get a little physical activity into his life.
It’s been interesting to see. He hems and haws and complains about it but without fail every time I pick him up from practice he is more relaxed, more confident, and more self assured than when I left him. Now, having said that, he’s slower than Christmas. Unfortunately right before the season started he sprained his ankle terribly. He was on crutches for a week and in a big brace for a month. So, while everyone else was practicing he was nursing his foot.
At the first meet, Westminster, Randolph, and Altamont were all set up right next to each other. I was pretty excited about a private school rumble but, alas, everyone was nice to each other. Darn kids these days. Where is their passionate hatred for their rivals?
The exercise is good for him but mostly just being part of a team is good for him. And it’s got to be good for him to be around stellar kids and adults that work hard and have fun. The meets are pretty high tech these days. Each runner wears a digital chip on their shoes and that’s what keeps track of their time. After the race the coaches collect the chips and turn them back in.
Watching him run is pretty traumatizing for me. Seriously traumatizing. I mean, I just want him to do well. He is consistently either in last place or really close to it. And it hurts my heart. I try to stay positive but inside my guts feel all squishy as I wait and wait and wait for him to round the bend.
It frustrates me because really it’s my fault he’s so slow. We were supposed to make him run in the summer and we didn’t. Oh, we occasionally told him to but it was pretty rare. Once or twice a week sporadically and that just doesn’t cut it. In fact, it might have made it worse. And then his stupid ankle injury happened.
But he still tries. And his times really are getting better. And hopefully, this season will be a win for him and he’ll develop some heart. Or maybe he won’t and this will just add fuel to his ‘See Mom, I’m just not a sports guy fire.‘ I don’t know.
Like everything else that involves parenting only time and luck will tell.