I am a proud stepfather for sure. My 12 year old stepson, Robert, two weeks ago decided he’d like to try running in our community road race, a 5k. It would be his first time, no training, just a desire to run with some friends. He placed first in his category, but overall 69th out of 277 at about 25 minutes. Not too shabby. I told him I could find other races. He wanted me to. The Fairfield Road Race was a short week away—we signed him up, but this time we bought him running shoes...he raced the other race in his skateboarding shoes!
The day came. He was feeling good; excited. Lots of runners encouraged him. When it was time to line up, he wanted to be at the head of the line—right at the starting line. Normally a parent is concerned about the finish line, but I was more so, with Robert, concerned about the starting line—because he wanted to be first. First. Me first. That’s what Robert is all about. Not first at the finish line—he understood that wasn’t possible. But just first at the start. And that’s the way he is in life. Always concerned about the start, never the finish. Me first. I almost was willing to pull him out of the line and make him go back—for two reasons 1) just because Robert needs to learn and 2) he was going to get trampled by a hundred runners quicker, more experienced, and massively taller than he. But I noticed something I rarely see in Robert. He looked focused. I sensed he knew what he was doing. He was aware of where he was and who surrounded him, but that wasn’t bothering him. The very much taller men around him made slight comments to each other (I can see that happening) and they stared at this pintsized novice down below. But Robert grew up a little that day—he was focused. I trusted that look and bet on him not being trampled to death.
Then the shout, ready. And then the count down 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 and they were off...and Robert pacing the large runners immediately with no problem. He was gone. 3.1 mile (that’s the 5K) to go, so we walked back to the finish line. The runners that surrounded Robert at the beginning, I had noticed, were among the first to cross the finish line. To the amazement of many Robert appeared at around the 21.30 mark and then by the time he was in the shoot and hit the finish line he timed at 22 minutes, 12 seconds. I was so proud of Robert. But it was not so much for his finish--which was impressive for a second time runner at the age of twelve. No. But for his focus at the beginning. Focus, not first. A little growing up had happened. Later at home, I asked Robert why he thought I didn’t stop him from being first (for the reasons I stated above). I asked, “What do you think I was looking for?” He replied, “Focus.” He had been listening to me all these years. How about that? He said, “You knew I was focused.” I smiled and said, “That’s how we finish the race.” I think he caught the metaphor.
Posted by Chip Anderson at 06:11 AM. Filed under: In the Margins • Personal •
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