Last week I had to run fast. Real fast. A heart pounding, adrenaline pumping kind of fast that ended up with everything okay, but I didn't know that when I was running. A neighbor needed help. And I ran.
My knee still sort of hurts, which has me thinking about running.
The last time I remember running FAST was on field day at College Wood Elementary when I won the 60 yard dash, beating Missy Hartman and becoming (on that day, at least) the Fastest Girl in the 6th Grade. That marked the beginning and end of my track career. In fact, my entire athletic career can be summed up in two sentences:
1. I won the 60 yard dash in 6th grade.
2. I was on the 9th grade volleyball team.
I've dropped these bombshells on my kids during "oh yeah, well your DAD is not the only one who can do sports stuff" and " I used to be a girl before I was a Mom" kinda moments. Not necessarily my finer Mom moments, but worth the stunned expressions on their faces.
Over the years, my running has been mostly errands, but on those rare, "I'll just run this over to my neighbor's" occasions, I realized that I had started running like..... you. You know. Like a MOM. When that cold reality flashed into my conscious, I had two nearly simultaneous thoughts: "ACK! Stop running! You are running like a Mom" and "You ARE a Mom."
So, last week. I am sure I ran alot faster in the 6th grade. And My Hero caught up to me even though I had a head start and he stopped to put on his coat. And probably what initially slowed me down (and hurt my knee) was the garage door limbo I had to do when the door wasn't going up as fast as I needed it to. And even in the 6th grade I don't think I could limbo. Last week I just ran as fast as I could. And I didn't even think about running like a Mom who is running fast.