Iron Pol

For any parent, there is a certain amount of pride in knowing their kids are following in their footsteps.  I certainly feel some of that pride when my son and daughter are in the front yard playing triathlon.  They kidnap various swimcaps we've collected at races, put them on, and run around pretending to swim.  Then, they hop onto their bikes for that portion of the race.  After going to the corner and back, they hop off the bikes, remove their helmets, and "head out" for their run.

Now, at no point are they more than a house or two away from home.  But to watch them, you would believe they just completed a full 140.6 mile race.  By the way, if you ARE watching them, you had better be cheering, because this IS a real race.  And in true endurance fashion, they usually hold two or three of these races back to back.  They're my little Dean Karnazes' in the making.

I learn a lot from watching my kids race.  They run because they love it.  My wife and I try to let them run whenever they want, for that exact reason.  And their excitement increases as more people join them.  Running alone might be fun, but running with half the neighborhood is much more interesting.  It also allows my son to practice his skills as the head course official.

They can also teach a thing or two about finishing.  During a recent kids' run, my son fell down near the start.  I was handling photography and watching our daughter, and Mrs. Pol had dashed to the finish line to watch him.  That left him on the course, alone and frightened.  Luckily, a volunteer saw what happened, and hurried to help him up.  Scared, crying, and very near the end, my son brushed himself off and started running for the finish line.

That was not the race he wanted to run, and we know it shook him up.  Even so, he seemed to recall something from when we run, together.  He knew he wasn't hurt, and beat back the gremlins that were frustrating him.  After the race, as he ate a much needed "recovery popsicle," he asked if we saw him fall down.  And his tears vanished as we congratulated him for getting back up and finishing.

Oddly enough, it was thoughts of my kids that helped get me running again near the end of Louisville Ironman.  I wanted to set a good example, so I picked my self up (figuratively), brushed myself off, and started running for the finish line.

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