My girl Maddie can run. And run she did this morning for her first ever cross-country track meet.
Despite her nerves, she lined up with her age bracket and was prepared to run the one mile race:
Most of the race took place off the campus and track, so we didn’t get to watch it. But she had two hills to climb, and the last one was at least a quarter-mile steep incline. I honestly don’t know how she did it. Just driving up the hill made me tired.
She came in 7th overall out of 16 girls, and 2nd for the girls from her school. I was so proud of her. Best of all, she was proud of herself:
From the race, we had to go almost immediately to her soccer game where–alas–Maddie finally met her doom: she had to be goalie.
She was so upset she had to be goalie–the first time in seven years she’s had to defend the goal–that she was almost in tears. For someone who is still a bit afraid of the ball, this was a huge fear for her to overcome,
Which she did. Beautifully. While it took her a good five minutes to remember she could use her hands (kind of hard after ingraining it into your mind for seven years that you CANNOT, under any circumstances, USE YOUR HANDS), she did pretty well, and though the opposing team did make one goal while she was in the box, she did stop some other potential goals from going in.
But once she was released from her prison (her word), she was off doing what she does best: running up and down the field, passing the ball and even attempting to make a few goals. Her team even finished with a 2-1 win.
Watching my girl run, whether on a track, up a hill, or on a grassy field, fills my heart with joy. And pride. And thankfulness.