Attention: Davidson Children of my Lineage!
Last Saturday is a day I want to remember, and I want to make sure you know about it, too. Your mom and I (no joke) ran a 5K together today. It was through a pumpkin patch, a corn field, and some tall grass likely infested with snakes, which I hate. Yes we were supposed to be there and no we weren’t trespassing. It was a fundraiser for Parent to Parent, an awesome organization in SouthWest Michigan which helps parents (like us) help Lexi (one of the three of you) and families (all of us) get support and give support, too. We’ve learned that organizations like this are key to a family like ours, and it seemed like running a little bit was a small price to pay for such a major impact for many.
Mom wore bib #92 and I wore #93. For her, it was one of several 5K’s but for me it was a maiden voyage. First of all, I’m not built to run. Mine is more of a “mover of couches” frame. Secondly, I was in no shape to run at the beginning of this year. Now that I’ve decided — against the deepest wishes of my poor body that I will run — the ol’ frame has finally given in and dropped some of the ballast that made running an impossible chore to begin with. Now I run. Not fast, but fast enough. Semis can go on the freeway, though they’re not the fastest ones out there, and I am but a Freightliner.
This was a small triumph for yours truly, weighing in at about 265 yet running alongside hordes of skinny people who make good time, wear professional runner threads, carb up for a good reason, and get high from the experience. I plan on doing this more, as long as my kneecaps don’t explode and my innards obey the rules of good public citizenship.
Most important, though, was the experience of running next to your mom. Looking over at her and running on purpose, not because something was wrong or chasing us, but because we want to live life, was such a joy. Her slow running is my fast walking, if you can imagine, and I looked like a bad Monty Python sketch for a while. But, my children, I’ve learned that no one runs to maintain dignity. I am happy to say that I can finally experience this firsthand.
Speaking of hands, it was Emily’s hand I was holding as we ran across the 5K finish line. Someone took our picture, and as soon as I can find it, I’ll put it here. I want to remember, and I wanted to make sure you knew about it, too.
A year ago, I would’ve told you that this was an impossible feat. My body, and not just my feet, would’ve agreed. But there I was — there we were — hand in hand, being cheered on by wonderful strangers, and running because it was the right thing to do on a rainy October morning in Gobles, Michigan.