It’s the weekend and I’m getting ready to head out for my 10-mile run. My 9-year old son asks to come along. At first, I was excited that he wanted to run with me, but he quickly corrected me. He wanted to ride along on his bike. I hate to admit it, but I was disappointed that he didn’t want to run, and apprehensive about taking him along since it usually turned a quick 3-mile tempo run into a half-day excursion. He is so excited, I can’t say no. Of course, this means the highway is out, my “run” will be much shorter, and some of the more technical trails will have to wait for another day, but off we go TOGETHER.
It’s an early fall morning. The leaves are just starting to change and the temperature is perfect for running (and riding). We decide on our usual 5-mile loop, which is dirt road with a small section of single-track trail. Before long, we reach our half-way mark where we stop at a stump so he can devour his Clif Bar. Sometimes I think that’s why he comes with me…..so he can eat Clif Bars and drink Tailwind. Last week, he asked for Tailwind in his water bottle as I was packing his lunch.
There is no need for an ipod when I am with him, since he talks non-stop. The yellow butterflies are everywhere this morning. I am informed that they must be migrating for winter. He asks, “how long is this straight road?” “2 miles” I say. “Holy cow, that’s longer than a city block mom. Mom, how long is a city block? And why do cities have blocks in them anyway?” And so it continues for the rest of our run/ride. This morning though I am grateful for his company, grateful that he wants to spend time with me, grateful for all the millions of questions and explanations I didn’t ask for, grateful that he loves to ride and he is learning to make fitness a part of his life. Suddenly, my pace or mileage no longer seem important at all.
The second half of our journey is much the same. However, I am struck today by how much he has grown and what a strong rider he has become. He navigated the single-track trail with no assistance today, and he rode almost all the way up the big hill before walking his bike. Maybe next year we’ll be able to go on some more mountainous trails together, or even tackle his goal, which is riding to Boulder Lake in Copper Basin.
As we arrive home, he hops off his bike and gives me a giant hug. “Thanks mom for taking me. That was so much fun. This is the best day ever.” And he runs into the house. I realize he is absolutely correct. This is the best day ever. These are the days we will both remember. 20 years from now, it won’t matter that I only ran 15 miles instead of 25 miles one week, but we will always remember our “runs” together.
