Track attack

Mark's been waiting since fourth grade to join the middle school track team. So when he found out about team try outs a couple weeks ago, he was thrilled.

He's a pretty fast little guy, so I was excited when he made the team. He was, too.

However, news was somewhat slow to arrive home, and I was never quite sure when practice was, or even what gear Mark needed, if any. I asked if he'd run in his regular shoes, or if he needed special running shoes.

"We don't wear shoes," he answered. "We run in our socks."

I realized the only gear to stock up on was bleach, to get the grass stains out.

But then I found out he did need real track shoes, and they were surprisingly hard to find. Even the salesman at the local running store had a tough time locating any.

"It's not track season," he explained. "I'm not even sure we carry track shoes now."

Lucky for me, he had one pair left--and they were Mark's size! They fit snugly, which meant they'd fit Mark for all of five minutes before he outgrew them. Unluckily for me, they were $50. Which seemed like a lot, considering he only has two weeks left for the season.

"Do you all run the races at the same time?" I asked Mark. "Maybe we can just buy one pair, and you guys can alternate." I found out later Liz had said the same thing. (All moms think alike.)

So, armed with $50 shoes, Mark hit the track again. I'm not sure if he ran any faster, but at least his socks are a little whiter.

Last week, the team started practicing at the local high school, which has a real dirt track like the one they'd race on during meets.

"Was it hard to run so many laps?" I asked. Mark said it was not--the toughest part of practicing was just walking there, wearing his humongous backpack. I reminded him that's part of the conditioning.

And so, with two weeks of training under their belt, the team attended their first meet this weekend. Sean and Mark were very excited.

Sean's parents and I were excited too, until we saw the competition. I'm not sure what the other parents feed their kids, but the other runners were huge. Humongous. Gigantic.

Sean's dad, Denis, pointed to a tall, lanky kid nearby.

"That kid's got a couple inches on me!" said Denis, who is six feet tall himself. Our little sixth-graders looked more like kindergartners racing Olympic athletes.

Sean and Mark told us they were both running one race, the 100-yard sprint. Which Mark loves, since he's a slacker. He likes running, but...you know, not more than a couple laps.

Turns out, they also ran a 440 yard relay. Liz and I prayed that there was at least one other kid between Sean and Mark, and that they wouldn't hand the baton off to each other. Because they spend so much time together, they act like brothers, getting along great half the time, and driving each other insane the other half. Liz and I knew there was a 50/50 chance they'd get along that morning, and successfully pass the baton without dropping it (or throwing it at each another--a more likely scenario).

But we didn't need to worry. They did great--Sean took off like a shot, passed the baton to Mark uneventfully, and away Mark went.

They didn't win, or place, but they were exceedingly proud of themselves, and we parents were equally proud.

The 100-yard sprint was last. Sean and Mark were in separate races, but they each raced 6 lanes full of giants in their respective races. I am not kidding--this is just one of the kids Mark raced against:

Seriously, I think that kid was old enough to shave before the race. He might have driven himself to the track meet, too.

Mark and Sean put in a great effort. They didn't care where they ranked, they were just happy to be in the meet.

Later on, my friend Edra asked Mark how he did.

"Great!" Mark replied, enthusiastically.

"You did?" she asked. "Awesome! What place did you come in?" She was expecting to hear second or third, maybe even first.

"Second to last," Mark said, proudly adding, "I didn't come in last."

I congratulated him again on his performance, saying I was impressed by how much he's learned in two weeks.

"What I liked best of all was your effort," I praised. "I could see you were giving it 100%."

"Not really," Mark corrected. "I only gave about 90%. Maybe 95."

I just looked at him. The parenting books never prepared me for having such a brutally honest kid.

"You only gave 90%?" I asked. "What happened to the other 10%?"

"Aaah, why waste it?" he answered. "I figured 90, maybe 95% was good enough. Which it was--because I didn't come in last." 

"No, you didn't," I agreed. And then I sighed, because that really is the measure of athletic success to my child--not necessarily winning, just not coming in last. Or running that far.

I've already crossed Mark's chances at an academic scholarship off the list--now it seems his chances for a track scholarship have dwindled as well...by at least 90 to 95%.

Oh well. Mark still has drums--and Sean still has saxophone. We'll just have to focus on music scholarships instead. Or maybe a college with a track team that only runs short-distance sprints.