They tell me bears are fast. If we see one when we’re hiking, the worst thing we can do is run because they will chase us down and eat us.
Okay, not really, but mauling for sure. Maybe.
My kids participated in a bear crawl this morning because the bear is their school mascot (of course because we live in the mountains) and this fun run raised lots of money for their school. Specifically the teacher’s classroom libraries, which I think should be stocked with Cynthia Rylant and plenty of gorgeous picture books.
(I told this to my youngest’s kindergarten teacher from last year. I don’t know his first grade teacher well enough yet to go all book bossy on her.)
Thirty-five laps around a “track” made of tiny cones and discarded water cups. I have no idea who long the actual footage was, but I know it took most kids about thirty minutes to complete. I expected my turbo charged little boy to run his heart flat out.
He did. He also made his hair look like this which is why I cannot bring myself to cut it.
But my third, my youngest daughter, who has given us a history that involves words like atrophy and MRI and oligloconal banding, the girl who wears a brace to walk so she doesn’t get too tired, the child who had a complete meltdown at my kitchen table Monday afternoon BECAUSE THIRD GRADE IS SO HARD, I didn’t have any expectations. I just hoped she wouldn’t get run over.
She ran and ran and grinned and ran and cheered and laughed. She beat her friends. She never stopped, never gave up, never worried that she couldn’t do it. Watching her reminded me she’s stronger everyday. She’s better every scan. She’s living with a new normal that’s been her normal for over half her life now.
This is her life.
And she’s determined to live it at high speed–not crawl through it cowered down by the what-ifs.
I think it’s time I took a cue from my baby girl and found my own endurance.