Last saturday we all ran in various events in a community race called the Juana Run. Mommy rocked her 8K like nobody's business before everybody else was even done with breakfast.
Little ran the Kindergarten heat [400m?] to win it. She was very competitive about this and had spent several days periodically stressed out about winning, not winning, being ok with not winning, winning, etc. She gritted it out and did us proud [but didn't win]:
Littler had no idea what was going on, wandered around for a bit grinning and looking for family, and finished nearly-last [she was not the only pre-K to have no idea what was going on]:
When she ran by Daddy he yelled "Run, [Littler]! Run!" so she ran for 3 or 4 paces:
Daddy ran the 1 mile, he still doesn't know why. He had loads of excuses not to [running kills his back! he never runs! running sucks! he's really a sprinter! he doesn't have proper running attire! somebody needs to watch the kids! really, anything] but didn't want to feel like a weenie with Mommy running an 8K earlier. It was pretty much a debacle. He spent the first 1/4 or 1/3 of a mile out in front of everybody and trying to let them pass because he didn't want to be in front because he knew he couldn't win. Then about the time they all started passing him his back froze up solid and he limped to the end in pain. As of six days later his back is still fairly unusable. He will forget about this in a few months and try it all over again with similar results.
Mommy did get one picture where he is stupidly out in front of everybody before he started making faces like he was getting mutilated and tortured:
Without permission from his parents, we still have to add one photo from one of Little's friends that ran in the 2nd grade race. None of that gritty face-of-determination stuff for him. He's actually enjoying himself:
Fun Saturday morning!