I don’t know who was more excited this morning: My five-and-a-half year old grandson or his 59-year old G-Pa. But I do know this: We both had the time of our lives.
I’ve had the pleasure of running with Krischan pretty much since the day he learned to walk. The boy loves to run, and I couldn’t be happier. Or prouder, seeing as he ‘wants to run just like G-Pa.’ In fact Krischan reminds me of my son/his Uncle Josh when he first started running a couple of decades ago. It’s been quite a spell between generations, but after today I can honestly say it’s been worth the wait.
You see, this morning Krischan ran his first official race and I had the pleasure of being there with him, every hop, step and detour-to-pick-up-miscellaneou
After a busy afternoon and evening yesterday hunting invisible space alien babies in the woods behind the house, finding a jawbone that instantly transformed us into ‘scientists’ (the ‘fossil’ was later identified by a Facebook friend as that of a deer) and baking our requisite Friday night batch of peanut butter cookies, I woke up this morning at 3:45 to get in my 10-mile run with my friend Al…while Krischan slept in until 7:30 (our race was at 9:00). Of course no five-and-a-half year old boy ‘sleeps in’ until 7:30; rather he was woken up early on this Saturday morning by his Yia-Yia (my wife Cindy) to get ready for his racing debut. As you can imagine it wasn’t pretty, but after he put on his shorts, shirt and ‘running shoes’ he couldn’t wait to get to the starting line.
‘How much further?’ I heard more than once as we made the 30-minute drive to Griffin. When we pulled into the parking lot his eyes were as wide as the finishing medal he hoped to have draped around his neck once he crossed his first finish line. I didn’t have the heart to tell him there probably wouldn’t be a medal for the race (there was an accompanying 5K race—the ‘big event;’ the one-mile was merely the accompanying ‘fun run’) but if there wasn’t he could choose one of mine when we got back to the house. (He’s always admired my medal collection, and one day it is certain to be his.)
We picked up Krischan’s race packet and he instantly asked me to pin his race number to the front of his shirt. The number almost covered his entire stomach but that didn’t matter to him: He was now an ‘official runner.’ We walked back to the car to drop off his packet and although I had asked him several times just moments earlier if he needed to use the restroom while we were near the hospital and he said ‘no’ every time, once we were in the parking lot—with neither a rest room nor porta-pottie anywhere in site—he had to go. ‘Now!’ He ran to a tree, dropped his shorts to his ankles and let it fly. It was hard to believe this was the same little boy whom I implored to ‘water a tree’ last summer in a similar emergency situation and he absolutely refused (I ended up pounding on the door of a local restaurant in Senoia—about two hours before they were open for business and they generously allowed Krischan to use the restroom. His comment as we left: ‘This restaurant must not be any good because there aren’t any customers.’).
All I can figure is it must have been the pressure of running his first race. I asked him as we headed to the starting line what made him so bold; he didn’t have an explanation, but as we got close to the gathering of runners he asked me if we could ‘stop talking about this now?’ After all, it was time to get down to business. Besides, it wasn’t a good idea for G-Pa’s to embarrass their grandsons when they were about to compete in an athletic competition for the first time.
As we waited at the back of a pack of 100 or so runners (the 5K and the one-mile started simultaneously, but the two races took different routes) I told Krischan not to start out too fast because, after all, a mile is a really long way. Over the years Krischan has covered as many as three miles with me, but as you might imagine not all of it was running: There was always a good amount of walking, talking to neighbors and petting every dog that crossed our path. But today would be different: Today was all about running.
As the Race Director was going over the instructions for the races, Krischan asked if we could hold hands while we ran. ‘You know, so you can keep up with me, G-Pa.’ I told him he would need to have his hands free so his arms could pump as he ran, but I would do my absolute best to keep up with him.
Krischan started off exactly as I asked: Conservative pace, arms-a-pumping and cheeks turning bright red as he crested the first of several hills on one of the more challenging ‘fun run’ courses I’ve ever seen. Let me be the first to say the experience was wonderful: He smiled the entire time, slowed down only for a couple of steps because his ‘stomach hurt’ and even managed to squeeze in a little exploration and housekeeping along the way. Krischan waved to everyone along the course and got excited every time someone shouted him encouragement (‘Do they know me, G-Pa? They must because they’re cheering for me!’).
We played leapfrog with several other runners for most of the race. As you probably already guessed I took my fair share of photos along the way so I could have a record of this special morning. As we neared the finish line, by my calculation we were in the middle of a pack of about 25 runners, walkers, moms, dads and one lone G-Pa. I told Krischan he should cross the finish line in front of me because I wasn’t wearing a number, but he would have none of it: We would be crossing the finish line together. I think what he said was ‘Catch up to me, G-Pa; I’ll slow down so you can’ which was his subtle way of reminding me I’m not as young as him (he thinks I’m 25, by the way).
We ran the final 10 or so glorious steps together and crossed Krischan’s first finish line in an official time of eighteen minutes and twelve seconds. 18:12, a time that is now part of my vernacular along with 76:36 (a 10-mile race Josh ran when he was nine years old), 3:18:15 (Cindy’s first half-marathon) and 36:14 (my 10K best). I imagine when my memory starts failing me—I’m guessing around the time I’m running my great-grandchild’s first race with him or her—the time I’ll still remember will be 18:12.
While Krischan may not remember his finishing time, I have high hopes that he’ll always remember the day he ran just like his G-Pa.
I’ve had the pleasure of running with Krischan pretty much since the day he learned to walk. The boy loves to run, and I couldn’t be happier. Or prouder, seeing as he ‘wants to run just like G-Pa.’ In fact Krischan reminds me of my son/his Uncle Josh when he first started running a couple of decades ago. It’s been quite a spell between generations, but after today I can honestly say it’s been worth the wait.
You see, this morning Krischan ran his first official race and I had the pleasure of being there with him, every hop, step and detour-to-pick-up-miscellaneou
After a busy afternoon and evening yesterday hunting invisible space alien babies in the woods behind the house, finding a jawbone that instantly transformed us into ‘scientists’ (the ‘fossil’ was later identified by a Facebook friend as that of a deer) and baking our requisite Friday night batch of peanut butter cookies, I woke up this morning at 3:45 to get in my 10-mile run with my friend Al…while Krischan slept in until 7:30 (our race was at 9:00). Of course no five-and-a-half year old boy ‘sleeps in’ until 7:30; rather he was woken up early on this Saturday morning by his Yia-Yia (my wife Cindy) to get ready for his racing debut. As you can imagine it wasn’t pretty, but after he put on his shorts, shirt and ‘running shoes’ he couldn’t wait to get to the starting line.
‘How much further?’ I heard more than once as we made the 30-minute drive to Griffin. When we pulled into the parking lot his eyes were as wide as the finishing medal he hoped to have draped around his neck once he crossed his first finish line. I didn’t have the heart to tell him there probably wouldn’t be a medal for the race (there was an accompanying 5K race—the ‘big event;’ the one-mile was merely the accompanying ‘fun run’) but if there wasn’t he could choose one of mine when we got back to the house. (He’s always admired my medal collection, and one day it is certain to be his.)
We picked up Krischan’s race packet and he instantly asked me to pin his race number to the front of his shirt. The number almost covered his entire stomach but that didn’t matter to him: He was now an ‘official runner.’ We walked back to the car to drop off his packet and although I had asked him several times just moments earlier if he needed to use the restroom while we were near the hospital and he said ‘no’ every time, once we were in the parking lot—with neither a rest room nor porta-pottie anywhere in site—he had to go. ‘Now!’ He ran to a tree, dropped his shorts to his ankles and let it fly. It was hard to believe this was the same little boy whom I implored to ‘water a tree’ last summer in a similar emergency situation and he absolutely refused (I ended up pounding on the door of a local restaurant in Senoia—about two hours before they were open for business and they generously allowed Krischan to use the restroom. His comment as we left: ‘This restaurant must not be any good because there aren’t any customers.’).
All I can figure is it must have been the pressure of running his first race. I asked him as we headed to the starting line what made him so bold; he didn’t have an explanation, but as we got close to the gathering of runners he asked me if we could ‘stop talking about this now?’ After all, it was time to get down to business. Besides, it wasn’t a good idea for G-Pa’s to embarrass their grandsons when they were about to compete in an athletic competition for the first time.
As we waited at the back of a pack of 100 or so runners (the 5K and the one-mile started simultaneously, but the two races took different routes) I told Krischan not to start out too fast because, after all, a mile is a really long way. Over the years Krischan has covered as many as three miles with me, but as you might imagine not all of it was running: There was always a good amount of walking, talking to neighbors and petting every dog that crossed our path. But today would be different: Today was all about running.
As the Race Director was going over the instructions for the races, Krischan asked if we could hold hands while we ran. ‘You know, so you can keep up with me, G-Pa.’ I told him he would need to have his hands free so his arms could pump as he ran, but I would do my absolute best to keep up with him.
Krischan started off exactly as I asked: Conservative pace, arms-a-pumping and cheeks turning bright red as he crested the first of several hills on one of the more challenging ‘fun run’ courses I’ve ever seen. Let me be the first to say the experience was wonderful: He smiled the entire time, slowed down only for a couple of steps because his ‘stomach hurt’ and even managed to squeeze in a little exploration and housekeeping along the way. Krischan waved to everyone along the course and got excited every time someone shouted him encouragement (‘Do they know me, G-Pa? They must because they’re cheering for me!’).
We played leapfrog with several other runners for most of the race. As you probably already guessed I took my fair share of photos along the way so I could have a record of this special morning. As we neared the finish line, by my calculation we were in the middle of a pack of about 25 runners, walkers, moms, dads and one lone G-Pa. I told Krischan he should cross the finish line in front of me because I wasn’t wearing a number, but he would have none of it: We would be crossing the finish line together. I think what he said was ‘Catch up to me, G-Pa; I’ll slow down so you can’ which was his subtle way of reminding me I’m not as young as him (he thinks I’m 25, by the way).
We ran the final 10 or so glorious steps together and crossed Krischan’s first finish line in an official time of eighteen minutes and twelve seconds. 18:12, a time that is now part of my vernacular along with 76:36 (a 10-mile race Josh ran when he was nine years old), 3:18:15 (Cindy’s first half-marathon) and 36:14 (my 10K best). I imagine when my memory starts failing me—I’m guessing around the time I’m running my great-grandchild’s first race with him or her—the time I’ll still remember will be 18:12.
While Krischan may not remember his finishing time, I have high hopes that he’ll always remember the day he ran just like his G-Pa.
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