The Runner

Since the 7th grade, JT has run for the cross country team in the fall.  He started running under the direction of the amazing Coach L, a man who is as gentle as he is strong and whose patience with kids is extraordinary.  Those Middle School cross country years started slow, though JT ran well and liked it immediately.  When he started high school two years ago, he joined the cross country team in the fall.  This coach, a different Coach L, is funny and strong, and a fan of a work ethic.  JT respects her and looks to meet her ambitious expectations.  For two years running, he’s earned the Iron Man award, a distinction given to team members who never miss practice.  JT is a never-miss-practice kind of kid, so this challenge was right up his alley.

JT is a moderately good runner, with the tenacity to go long distances and enough energy to finish strong.  He’s an even better teammate, who has steadily brought his friends into the sport.  Last winter, when the cross country season had ended and wrestling was just under way, he and a group of wrestlers headed out on the cold mornings for some extra runs to maintain conditioning.  Something truly clicked on those mornings and a runner was born.

Throughout the spring and into the summer, he ran nearly every day.  He made easy 5 and 6 mile distance runs; he ran sprints; he ran tempo drills.  He was excited for the start of practice; the arrival of weekends finds him consulting Coach L’s instructions and going out for a run.  

On the weekends, Lucy the cat takes over coaching duties.  She's gone from supervising a little boy who played with Playmobil and ran around in the back yard to supervising homework and athletic practice.  She watches from the window when JT steps out the front door.

She stays in the front window while he stretches outside, a watchful eye on her boy.

She looks on as he consults his watch and sets his timer.

And then he is off.  

Lucy retreats for a nap, but stays downstairs because her boy will be back soon.  She must be ready to supervise the post-run shower and snack.

Head Strong

Later this month, JT will turn 13.  Being the mama of a soon-to-be 13 year old has been a real challenge and so I imagine that being the mama of an actual 13 year old will be a nightmare test.

Case in point is the current state of the boy's head: concussed.  Monday, while he was in gym class, JT fell and received a concussion for his troubles.  He had been on the gym monkey bars in the amazing workout space and, determined to take on a physical challenge, he swung to skip a bar and missed.  The result was a crash 8 feet downward broken only by his left hand and his head hitting the forgiving surface.  Quite frankly, I'm grateful that all he got was a concussion.  

As a woman whose girlhood physical confidence hovered around zero, I find JT's physical confidence amazing.  He runs and jumps and climbs and tries most any physical challenge.  He's not generally reckless, though he is an adolescent boy and so a certain amount of reckless swagger does go with the territory.  Just one day after the big spill, he's eager to jump on the monkey bars again, which I respect, even if it scares the daylights out of me.

That boy of mine is going to wear me out.

On the Edge

Thirteen years ago today, I went to the hospital to try and induce my baby to join us outside the womb.  In a display of the strong-will that I see in him today, he refused to vacate the premises.  I was sent home to wait a bit longer.  Fifteen days later, I was able to hold my 7 1/2 pound dark-eyed baby boy.  That first weekend that I was a mama, I marveled at my baby's perfection and happily imagined the future with him in my world.

I thought about all kinds of moments that we would enjoy together, most of them of the everyday sort of magic that mamas long for: learning the sound of his laughter, watching him crawl, hearing his first words, walking to the park with his hand in mine.  I think of these hopes with a bit of longing these days.

On the cusp of 13, my baby is taller than me, has the start of a mustache, and expresses the world view of a 13 year old.  That view can be easily summed up: I'm wrong (and perhaps stupid), he's right (and likely brilliant), events are either awesome or horrible (with little space in between, as far as I can tell).  Communication on the most mundane of matters sometimes feel fraught in a way I could have never predicted for such an innocuous phrase as "good morning."  The dramatic swings of adolescence can wear a mama out.

The good news is that there are moments of charm in this roller coaster ride.  He's strong as an ox and will carry anything that you ask him to move.  He's helpful around the house and at times displays some extraordinary kind- heartedness .  He's capable of understanding sophisticated ideas and we sometimes have thoughtful conversations about sports, politics, and history that I actually enjoy.  He's becoming self-aware and has realized that yoga on Friday afternoons really helps him to feel calm and relaxed (he used the word centered!).

The trick here is that you never know which JT you will draw in a given moment.  Of course, I still love him with all my heart.   But I sometimes feel as if I am suddenly on the edge of a cliff with no earthly idea how I got there.  And so I step back, take one more deep breath, and face the precipice once more.