Not Far from the Tree

Hippie Chick 2011

The Hippie Chick Half Marathon is always on Mother's Day weekend. This year Mother's Day was even better because my four-year-old daughter got to participate in the kids' race. I often get comments that Gemma looks like me, but the weekend's festivities confirmed that she also inherited a startling array of my personality traits. (This was an appropriate revelation considering I recently discovered I am turning into my mother.)

Exhibit A, the Expo. Gemma ate all the food samples in sight and rolled her eyes at the length of the line for merchandise. She also griped about having to wait in line twice for the race numbers and then the t-shirts. Fortunately, after years of experience, I have learned to keep my eye rolling and griping to myself (mostly). I will be teaching her these skills (though I am am sure it will take her a few decades to learn them--just like it took me).

On race day morning, Gemma got dressed in her very first outfit made of tech fabrics, a t-shirt and skort. She was very excited and lifted up her skirt to show everyone the built-in shorts underneath. Now, it's been a number of decades since I went around flashing people, but there's something about a matching tech outfit that still gets me going; I think because it reinforces my new revelation that I can be an athlete.

 Gemma was convinced she was going to win the race. We gently tried to explain that she would be one of the youngest (not to mention shortest) kids in the race and that she would not be winning first place. Then we tried to explain that the point of the race wasn't to win, it was just to finish. She gave me the stink eye on this one, just like I would have when I was a kid. "I'm not going to win? I don't even have a chance? Pfffffttt. What's the point?" I was very competitive and driven as a kid and did not appreciate coming in second (or last, which is why I shunned sports in school). I am so glad I found running, even if it was later in life. I love running because it allows me to be competitive with myself even though I will never be competitive in the traditional sense of actually winning a race. We finally convinced Gemma that she should run anyway, even if she wasn't going to win and she got that familiar look of pride on her face when we pinned her number to her shirt, the one I see in the mirror before every event. 

Gemma's first race finish with a teary-eyed Mom

Gemma and her dad ran the whole race (just over half a mile or so) together while I hiked across the field to get to the finish line to meet them. Fortunately, there were a team of rabid mamas just ahead of me forging a path through the crowd so I just followed them and arrived in plenty of time to wait for my daughter. I had a few minutes and observed some of the other mothers tearing up when their kids crossed the finish line. Bah! Silly mamas! Wait...here she comes down the track...look at her go...<sniff>...she's so strong and beautiful...<wipe, wipe>...a big hug for finishing..."why are you crying, Mama?"