Cross Generation Run

The one mile race begins above; and (below) ends with one tired "turkey": Maggie. -- Photos by Steven David Johnson

I ran my 49th race for the year on Sunday afternoon, and the little girls ran their first race ever.  Butch and I "coached" them, and Anna Maria and Steven watched them and tried to ignore us -- the crazy grandma and quasi-grampa (they did cheer the kids' on though in their own quiet way--without making a scene). 

The girls' race was a mile, four times around a cinder track.  Butch mostly was at the far curve and I stayed near the finish line.  I warned them not to be tempted to start fast as everyone else would do; I said, "You'll see. . .the others will be walking by the second lap."

And off they went. . .near the last of the pack, just as they'd practiced.  And they stayed there near the end for a lap.  But then Eliza began picking off the other racers.  

Each time they neared the finish line, their big blue and black eyes would look up at me waiting for the next instruction.  I'd shout "on pace" or "slow down"; and say the number of laps remaining while holding up corresponding number of fingers.  It was humbling and frightening, knowing they were depending on me to get them through and to do so at their very best. The weight of those two pairs of eyes looking at me at every lap, and knowing I had to counsel wisely or they'd burn out with discouragement; they'd run too slow, not reach their potential and be disappointed, or. . . 

Butch at the other end would run a bit with them if they started to slow at the half-way point on the track.  

Liza did the first lap at 8 mile pace.  I yelled, "On Pace, Liza, just maintain." And I secretly hoped she would slow a bit as I knew that was two minutes faster than practice.  Second lap was right on, "Perfect pace, Liza.  You're doing great. Way to go."  Third lap, "Last one, Liza.  You're almost there. Hang in there."  And then near the curve she was slowing--nearly to a walk.  I ran up to her, "Come on, Liza.  Push it through.  Beat that girl ahead and you'll be third." She poured it on, and beat that gal. . . who was actually 2d and running with an adult.  So Eliza was the second female.

Little Maggie stayed at the back.  She's barely waist high to me.  And you know little Maggie only weighs about 39 pounds, and she's just a bitty little thing.  But she ran 4 times around the track in a steady energizer bunny type pace and never quit.  She kept the same pace doggedly going around and around, except one time.  Seeing her slow, Butch ran toward her and ran around the second curve with her.  Near the end, I shouted, "Come on, Maggie.  Go for it.  Pick it up.  This is the end.  Pour it on."  And she did. . .till near the finish line.  She misunderstood where it was and quit a bit too soon.  Had she kept on to the end, she'd have beat the gal in front of her.  Her daddy, camera in hand said, "Here, Maggie.  Here's the line."  And she crossed -- two minutes ahead of her practice pace.  

But both girls DID win something! Later Maggie came in third during a turkey-calling contest.  For the race, Liza won a glass paper weight encasing a fairy; and, for turkey calling, Maggie won a wooden one with flowers on it.

And I'm one proud gramma!