Ann's Running Commentary

My son hates running. He has told me this everyday for most of his life. Even as he was getting faster and faster over the cross country season he would assure me that he hated it. Even after getting in my car after practice one afternoon and telling me he wanted to run the marathon. He just does not find the same joy in it that his father, sister, grandfather, aunt and mom do. When I tell him I think he might like it just a little bit, he completely denies it.

I, on the other hand, being his mother and knowing him better than he knows his self, know that deep down he enjoys it. I understand that he has convinced himself that running is not for him, that it is too hard and boring. I do get that. But I also know that when he runs, whether it is for an hour one day or on a regular basis as he tries to stay in shape for soccer season, he is a nicer person.

This is not a small feat. It is not that I am trying to take a sullen teenager who sits in his room, refusing to converse with another human being. It is also not that I have a surly teenager, with the rolling eyes and “Mom, you are so embarrassing” attitude. With a teenager like that I any improvement might seem like a big improvement. But Blaise is a “practically perfect in every way kind of teenager.” He gets good grades, he gladly spends time playing with his baby brother, and he will even have full conversations with me about the things that are happening in his life. To improve on him is not a lot to ask.

And yet, even he can be improved with a run. Please do not approach him to confirm this because you will be disappointed. He may even resort to rolling his eyes before answering you with a, “No, I did not enjoy that run” sneer. But I am here to tell you that I left the house with a pouting unhappy teenage boy who had to be forced to lace up his shoes. And I returned with a laughing and chatting young man who had run seven miles without complaint.

I am loath to say, I told you so, so please don’t mention it to him, but I did tell him so. He spent the entire morning moping around my house, complaining about anything he was asked to do and in general being a real curmudgeon. When I had had enough I told him (I know I should have asked but I had had enough) to lace up his shoes and meet me outside.

Oy, the complaints that came out of the child. “Why? I don’t want to go? Why can’t I just run on my own? Why do I have to run with you? I don’t want to go.” Pretending not to hear him I loaded my youngest son in the jog stroller, put the leash on the dog and headed out the front door to await his grumpy presence.

That is exactly what I got. A complete and total grump who refused to engage in conversation, rolled his eyes when I tried and kept pushing our pace in an attempt to out run his mom. But, I know I have already said this, mom knows best and by the time we reached the paths onto the cross country trails two miles from our house, he had started talking. Okay, not to me but at least he was talking to the dog. That was a step. A mile later he started talking to his little brother. By mile five he was pushing the stroller and talking to his dear old mom. And by the time we reached our house again he had left every bit of surly teenager along the trail and become my practically perfect in everyway kid again.

I would love to say that my son loves running, that he will grow up to be a runner like most of the rest of his family. I would love to know that he will have this to fall back on the way I do when the world around me is spinning out of control. But I don’t know. Maybe he won’t. Maybe he will continue to believe that he truly hates running. But maybe, just maybe, he will remember the times running made the day brighter and better and he will grow to love it. Maybe.

Digg

Stumble Upon

Del.icio.us

Buzz