Like Father Like Son

Just Another Runner’s Perspective                                                                                                     December 2017                                                                                                                                             By Gale Fischer

 

Like Father Like Son

"Every father should remember that one day his son will follow his example instead of his advice."      ----Charles Kettering

Thanksgiving Day 2017: An overcast sky received a group of three hundred-plus runners and walkers as we awaited the signal that would announce the start of our city's annual turkey trot. I stood next to my fifteen-year-old son, Logan, anticipating what I presumed would be a relaxed three-mile run for both of us together, stride by stride. Temperatures were in the low thirties with a light mist. My legs were shaking and my teeth chattering. I was more than ready to start running in hopes that the movement would generate some much-needed warmth for my body. 

 I turned to look at Logan. "Could you hold my phone so that I can start my watch when the race begins?" I asked him. "Sure," he replied. I handed my phone to Logan and seconds later we were off. For one brief moment, I glanced down at my watch, pushed the start button then looked back up.  Expecting Logan to still be at my side, I was caught off guard when I realized that he had a good ten-yard head start on me. He took off like a rocket. "This is not a sprint," I uttered to myself. "What does he think he is doing?" l focused on the blue sweatshirt that Logan was wearing and stepped off at a leisurely pace. "He will soon realize that he had better scale back the pace if he wants to continue without gasping for air," I assured myself.

 As Logan made the first turn a little more than a half mile later, his lead over me had grown to almost thirty seconds. I decided to scrap the easy jog and intensify my effort. I was confident that I would catch Logan by the one-mile mark and that by this time his sprint would surely be reduced to a slow jog, for the last two miles. As we approached the one-mile mark Logan's lead did not grow but it didn't shrink either. I continued to labor in an effort to decrease the distance separating the two of us, thinking that at any moment his tired body would be forced to shift into a lower gear. But as I ran by the mile two mark I let go of any hopes of my son and I finishing side by side. 

 Watching Logan compete in whatever sport he chose to participate in over the last four years, it had become obvious to my wife and me that he was the athlete of our family. He excelled as a runner, participating in cross country as a sixth grader and track in the spring of his seventh-grade year. His mother and I had enjoyed watching Logan showcase his athleticism and drive as an athlete for five years as a football player and on the hardwood. Last spring Logan decided he wanted to give lacrosse a try. Although he had no experience as a lacrosse player and zero knowledge about the rules and skills needed to play this sport, he began to round into form midway through the season, looking as if he had played for three or four years. As a long-time runner and cross country coach, there had always been a part of me that wished for Logan to choose track or cross country but the pride and joy that I had experienced the last five years watching him play other sports had long since replaced this desire to have him follow in my footsteps as a runner. Through the years, Logan had worked hard, exceeded, and without a doubt enjoyed all sports that he had participated in. More importantly, he had established special bonds and friendships as a result of the time spent as a member of each team that he had been a member of.

 As Thanksgiving Day 2017 approached, my wife and daughter had made plans to participate in the annual turkey trot. My daughter, Torey, and I had run it together for the past two years with my wife Kathy joining us last year as a walker. This year I thought it would be nice for the whole family to be a part of the experience. Logan wasn't thrilled with the idea when I first brought it up. He made it clear that he would rather sleep in.  Ultimately, however, I decided that the 2017 Turkey Trot would be an event for the whole family to be a part of.

 After signing in at the YMCA thirty minutes before the race, Logan expressed concern that he would have to run alone. His sister had more experience as a distance runner and Logan was aware of our plans to treat this as a fun run and not a race. Logan desired to test the waters a bit. He began probing, trying to get a sense of my plans for the run. He finally asked me to run the race with him. We quickly re-established our race plans. It seemed that Logan and I would be running together. I anticipated a quicker speed than what I had planned for but still assumed the effort would not leave me gasping for air. Although a great athlete, Logan had not raced or for that matter run a distance of this length for more than two years. I assumed that the old man would have to slow down a bit for him. I guess I didn't take into account the physical advantage of Logan's slender six-foot frame and the natural ability he possessed thanks to his long, young legs.

 A wave of mixed emotions swirled inside of me as I traversed the streets of downtown Battle Creek. Having covered thousands of miles over the years through these neighborhoods, the familiarity was uncanny. Although each stride created a sense of déjà, the experience of this three-mile run was anything but commonplace. Although Logan had shown promise a few years earlier as a runner, he had yet to out-pace me as a distance runner. Up until this Thanksgiving morning, I had been the king of runners in my family. My young teenage son would lead me into yet another transition in my life as a runner and a father.

A tiny chink had been chipped into my competitive armor when I first realized that this would be Logan's day today but that chink would not spoil the day. The competitive juices still trickled inside of me with a desire to outlast Logan for three miles, but as a father of a teenage son, there was also a big part of me that overflowed with pride as I handed off this metaphorical baton.

As I crossed the finish line some thirty seconds behind Logan, he sat on the curb, exhausted from the effort that he had just put forth.  We exchanged high fives as both of us relished in our accomplishment with weary bodies. I suppose our experience was one that is a normal rite of passage for many fathers and sons who share a passion for athletics. An aging dad wants to hold on to his athletic prowess as long as possible but the sense of pride when his own flesh and blood becomes the more accomplished athlete is as thrilling as any personal accomplishment that comes with competition.

The following morning, Logan was wondering if my legs were as sore as his. Although I did not feel the physical discomfort that he was feeling, I assured him that I had experienced this same soreness plenty of times during my tenure as a runner.

I'm sure Logan was happy with his performance but he has since claimed that he will never run three miles again. I am hoping for a rematch for Thanksgiving of 2018. Although he will probably not be running any distances of length between now and then, I'm sure he will provide a challenge for me.

KEEP RUNNING!!

Until next time, this has been just another runner’s perspective.