The low clouds of a typical overcast bay area morning left a chill in the air. We parked the car and got out, feeling underdressed in sleeveless shirt and shorts but I knew it would not be long before we would beg for cool water to lighten the heat of the effort in store. My son slowed as we approached the crowd around the field.
"What's wrong"?
"Were we supposed to wear Karate T-shirts Dad?"?
“Nope, not that anyone said. Don't worry, we'll be fine".
Three years of daily training had brought my son here. I myself had less than a year of stretching and training to claim for my own fame, but in less than a month, he would be a first degree black belt.
Today we take the physical fitness tests. The levels of requirement vary with age, and I came half planning to just play chauffeur so I wasn’t even fully aware of what we had to achieve. I masked my totally failing dadness by telling Avery that the numbers were unimportant, we needed to do what ever our best was. (Besides, the chart that our student in charge had was known to be wrong.)
I held his legs as he pushed through one minute of sit ups. Sit ups came next to last on favorite pastimes only to the dreaded and as yet un-achieved pull up. Just one. But his greatest bug-bear. He blew through the sit-ups and barely needed the rest before diving into push-ups. For me, it was more important that he do actual push-ups regardless of how many. Avery tends toward the seven year old favorite of “Butt-ups” which could get you thrown out of most parochial schools but do jack for upper body strength. He was gliding fine. Back straight, chest down, arms bending.
The clouds were thinking about breaking up and the sun had half a mind to make an appearance.
Next would be the adult push ups etc, then the kids’ mile run then the adults. Then we would migrate half a mile down the street and converge on the nearest playground with anything like a pull up bar.
I figured what the hell; I’ll see where I’m at. It would give me somewhere to work from.
Sit ups, not a problem. The first 30 glided by like butter, my mind was focused. Then Body had a chat with Abs without any consultation with Brain and they agreed this would be a great time for a work stoppage. Halfway up and I might as well have been held down with an eighty pound sack on my chest. Down, take a breath, and UP. No not really, there’s that brick wall again. I managed a few more barely.
Push ups were a little better, but again flowing fine until at 52 I just could not move. Hm. 35 is not old durn it…….
As I got up I glanced around for Avery in the press of adults all trying to figure out if “insert age here” was really old durn it. His friend came bolting up to me with one of those looks that sends fear into any parent. It’s the look a seven year old gives you when the news they have to tell you supersedes the fact that you are three times their age and height. They do not bother with uhmmms and giggly pauses.
“Avery fell and he’s bleeding” she said
“Okay! Let’s have all the kids under eighteen come over to the track” said a voice from over by the track.
I ran as nonchalantly as I could toward the direction his friend had come from. Avery was wobbling toward me with that “real pain” shakiness that says, “To hell with the attention factor here pop, I am really and truly in pain. His shirt and shorts were covered in dirt that had tell tale slide marks that matched the general direction of the bleeding scratch marks down his right arm, leg and knee.
Check breathing (mine not his)
Stay cool. Okay boys quick conference time.
<<<
“Wow, that looks bad, can you walk’? I said as I brushed off the dirt, feeling the sting like it was my own.
“I think so” he said. His eyes were shiny but his voice held firm.
“Okay…..lets walk over to the start line and see how it feels”
“…….okay” he said, in the same voice he uses when he knows the options are down to one so he might as well be brave about it.
His legs were a little shaky but no limp prevailed as we set out. We got to the track and he started over with the other kids.
“Avery…..do you want me to run with you”? I asked.
“Nah….I’m okay”
I felt a little relief. In fifteen minutes I was going to have to run My Mile, and I am not unaffected by the silent watchfulness of my peers. Testosterone and competitiveness does not stop at high school. Bad enough that I had not run more than a hundred yards in the past few years. I was counting on the last vestiges of the previous summer’s musical to keep me from flattening on my face after lap two.
Three quarters of the first lap, he loped along at a less than graceful run, but it was his normal less than graceful, not diminished by signs of pain or despair. As he came around to the finish of lap one he slowed to a walk, but kept going...
Something in my broke. Probably my need for ego from the sound of the snap, but My Mile dropped from the horizon and as My Son passed, I jumped out onto the track. Seeing me, he moved back up to a swift jog. “Can I go with you”? I asked.
“Sure…yeah….okay”. he said. We pressed on. Stopping each third quarter to a brisk walk then picking up the pace again. I swore to myself that I would not push him further than he pushed himself. Proud only that he had taken that first step onto the track. As we came to the final third quarter I said,”Okay, this is it Buddy, after this it’s all rest all day. RUN”! He was dieing on the outside but glowing on the inside. I kept waiting for him to fall back and just be content to walk across the line. Thankfully I didn’t hold my breath, I would have gone blue. He grunted, he strained, he gasped, and for the entire world sounded like a bull dieing at the feet of a matador, but he kept pumping forward.
12 minutes 9 seconds.
Someone said something about that being the max-out point for his age group. On the good side, not the bad.
As we lurched together to the grass, the sun sent the clouds home for the day and took over the watch. The grass smelled sweet. We glowed at each other and I told him I was so proud of him for not giving up.
He grinned even bigger as the adults headed to the track then said” Okay Dad, your turn”.