Never underestimate the impact of something very small.
For days my seven year old daughter, who is a ball of fire, has been begging to join me on my next run. My exercise time is my 'me' time. I try to fit it in where I can. Sometimes before everyone is up, sometimes at the end of the day practically in the dark. Always quiet, rhythmic, running, me time.
But tonight, it seemed to work out. We donned our runners at about 8:15pm. Too late for her, especially less than a week before school starts. But I thought a half hour would be alright.
I'd be bloody lucky to keep up to her. The little minx.
I was surprised. (Mom actually tired her out. Mind you its a long way for little legs.) We started to run and she kept pace pretty well. She's tiny and wiry and I am tall and... well, shaped a little like the Jolly Green Giant. But slowing my pace or altering my running rhythm would work against my stamina, so I decided to run as normal and slow when she needed to. Which wasn't too often.
We ran on the sidewalk, and along the street and on the paved park path. We stopped to watch a beaver at the lake munching a chowed down birch. His third within about fifty feet of each other in less than ten days.The town had set a trap which he had NO plan of entering. In fact, he had unintentionally jammed his tender log under the edge of the trap. Even if it fell, it wouldn't catch him. And so he munched, completely carefree, not one bit scared of the growing crowd of passers-by. We continued to run. Under the trees, in the cool clean fresh air. Down the hill near the lake in the shade where it was really crisp and moist in the early night air. Up the hill past the farm yard with the sheep.
When we walked we held hands and she talked my ear off. In that lovely little high sqeaky seven year old full of wonder way that makes a heart delight.
She must have thanked me forty-seven times for allowing her to come and run with me. It was obvious that it was a really special thing for her.
Something so small.
Meant so much to that little girl.
Talking. Walking. Running. Appreciating. Marvelling.
She won't soon forget it.
And neither will I.
All that in under 40 minutes.
For days my seven year old daughter, who is a ball of fire, has been begging to join me on my next run. My exercise time is my 'me' time. I try to fit it in where I can. Sometimes before everyone is up, sometimes at the end of the day practically in the dark. Always quiet, rhythmic, running, me time.
But tonight, it seemed to work out. We donned our runners at about 8:15pm. Too late for her, especially less than a week before school starts. But I thought a half hour would be alright.
I'd be bloody lucky to keep up to her. The little minx.
I was surprised. (Mom actually tired her out. Mind you its a long way for little legs.) We started to run and she kept pace pretty well. She's tiny and wiry and I am tall and... well, shaped a little like the Jolly Green Giant. But slowing my pace or altering my running rhythm would work against my stamina, so I decided to run as normal and slow when she needed to. Which wasn't too often.
We ran on the sidewalk, and along the street and on the paved park path. We stopped to watch a beaver at the lake munching a chowed down birch. His third within about fifty feet of each other in less than ten days.The town had set a trap which he had NO plan of entering. In fact, he had unintentionally jammed his tender log under the edge of the trap. Even if it fell, it wouldn't catch him. And so he munched, completely carefree, not one bit scared of the growing crowd of passers-by. We continued to run. Under the trees, in the cool clean fresh air. Down the hill near the lake in the shade where it was really crisp and moist in the early night air. Up the hill past the farm yard with the sheep.
When we walked we held hands and she talked my ear off. In that lovely little high sqeaky seven year old full of wonder way that makes a heart delight.
She must have thanked me forty-seven times for allowing her to come and run with me. It was obvious that it was a really special thing for her.
Something so small.
Meant so much to that little girl.
Talking. Walking. Running. Appreciating. Marvelling.
She won't soon forget it.
And neither will I.
All that in under 40 minutes.