athlete

by

“I Was A Runner!”

mom age 10

She was a young girl. Betty Lou was.

She was ready for the school day to start that day. She was just waiting to hear the warning bell. Hear it blare through the window. Making its way up from down below. Telling her to get her tail down the hill and into class before the final bbrrrrriiiiiiiinnngggg went off.

Ring it did. She grabbed her things. Ran out the door. Down the long slope. Through a tunnel.

Graceful.

My mom was reminiscing about a time in her life. Remembering when she was a youth. An energetic girl who knew how to run. Run with strength.

With Grace.

“I was a runner!” she said with glee. “I ran like a deer. Bounding along. There was nothing stopping my agility.” She hugged herself. “I was great! I just love my young self!” She laughed. Wriggled herself in the chair. Happy with the memory.

Betty Lou ran with confidence. Rounded a familiar corner. Saw the man with his hands on his hips. Checking out his work. Or admiring it. “Did the cement look level?” he seemed to wonder. She didn’t have time to even considered what he might have been thinking. She just kept running. Running.

Stepped right into that square of cement. Splat! went her foot. It only took her a second to decide to just keep going. Getting to school on time was of the utmost importance. She never even glanced back. Didn’t know what the man was thinking.

“He probably stood there, scratching his head, wondering where the foot print had even come from,” she said.

We laughed.

Made some jokes.

Betty Lou made it to school on time.

Not a second to spare.

by

happy ending – a GBE2 prompt

IMG_1878he’s our son, our youngest, the athlete, the competitor, the boy who wants to be part of a team, especially a winning team, a kid who tries hard, but sometimes not hard enough

he played soccer, for what seems like forever, ran across the field, passed the ball, kicked the ball, head-bumped the ball, scored a goal, didn’t score a goal, he’d run fast, think quick, yell, cheer, challenge, and brood

he tried out for the high school soccer team, spent a month of his summer showing the coaches his stuff, put in his best effort, only to be told not this year, buddy, try again next time

when he wasn’t playing soccer he played little league baseball, in the outfield, at third, first, second, he wasn’t the best player, neither was he the worst, once or twice he suited up as catcher, and a few times his strong arm, his solid throw earned him a spot on the pitcher’s mount, where, oddly, he worried, felt displaced, didn’t like the attention, wasn’t successful, and his batting wasn’t always up to par, some of his fielding needed work, attitude needed changing

freshman year, he was granted a spot in the baseball class, not the team, just a class to work on his baseball skills, he worked hard, was disciplined, lifted weights, strengthened his body, mind, and soul

when it was time to try out, to officially play ball, he did his best, displayed his skills, didn’t let anything or anyone discourage his efforts

he waited,  a long drawn out week, of sleepless nights, concerned disappointments, intermixed with knowing he’d improved, had what it took, that his skills were solid, to the point, right on

he stood in front of the coaches office, scanned the names, looking for his

bradford

he grunted, he yelped, he high-fived

he earned his happy ending