In the beginning, we met three excited kids from Erma’s preschool in the gymnasium, along with about five gazillion other kids whose emotions ranged from bored to happy to sad to overly enthusiastic.
“When are we going to run?”
“Why aren’t we running yet?”
“I want to run!!!!!”
Ten seconds into the race, Erma splatted terrifically onto the tar. She shouted, “I want my Dada! I don’t want you! I don’t like you! I want Dada!”
I told her that she was okay, that she could either keep running/walking or we could just go home. She opted to keep running and also to keep slapping me with witty retorts such as, “I don’t want to be near you. I want Dada to be here.”
I was the only mom who was yelling at her kid in the middle of the race.
At the finish line, we were surprised to find out her teacher was in the crowd, cheering Erma on. She got high fives from strangers and people called out, “Good job, runner! Good job!” I am pretty sure I caught her smiling at least twice.
Then Erma got her medal. Then she got a frozen banana courtesy of Olivia H.’s mom. Then she hugged her teacher.
And then she had some ice cream.
Tomorrow, for sure, I will hear about how great the race was, even if it didn’t seem like it at the time.
We did it! I wasn’t sure if we could do it. But we did! Next year, maybe we will even smile at EACH OTHER during the race. That would really be something!
I am proud of my 565. She ran a marathon!