Cry Baby

I am so EMO.  I am a crier.  There's no hiding it.  There's no shame in it.  It just is, man.  I am a cry baby.

I cry when I'm happy.  I cry when I'm feeling empathetic.  When I met my grand baby for the first time, I kissed on his rolls, and his sweet cheeks.   Then he had to get back on that plane with all grown up Katie-K, who's now a Mama doing a fine, damn job.  Not knowing when I would see those two precious beings again, I cried.  I cried when I left my Besties in Vegas, knowing full well,  that we'll probably never have a time quite like that again.

 I cry when I feel proud.  I cry when I'm overcome with emotion, with the tears that fall freely, being my release.

There have been many a time, smack dab in the middle of my Weight Watchers meeting, when I break down.  Professional?  Not exactly.  But part of my human condition?  Absolutely.

I received this gift from my Dad.  Oh - My - God, is that man a crier.  Through his example, I learned not to be ashamed, but rather, embrace emotion. Not quite the dealio for men of that generation.  A gift I've come to appreciate and accept about myself.

So it should be no surprise, that I started tearing up as I ran with the twins this last weekend.  You see, Abby and Bella have been involved in a program called Girls on the Run after school.  They have been training twice a week to run a 5k since the end of February.

The night before the race, I showed the girls how you get everything ready, 'cause race day comes damn early.  From your pony tail holder, to your socks, to your shoes, to having your oatmeal placed out on the counter and ready to go, the night before.

And so there we were on a chilly and overcast Saturday morning, awaiting the shuttle to take us into Vasona to the start line at  6:30 AM.  Excitement and anxiety filled the air, as 3,000 young ones waited to run.  Not to mention all of the mama's and daddies, grandma's and grandpa's who were lining the streets to cheer on their loved ones.

We took off in the front of the pack, racing like jack rabbits, to get the crowd behind us.  "Channel your inner Kenyan," I told the girls.  They didn't really get what I was talking about, but it sounded like a good pep talk at the time.  By the time we reached Mile 1, both girls had lost steam, feeling like they may need to walk.

"Let's just take it nice and easy.  Here we go, with a nice, and steady pace," I coached them.  By the time Mile 2 rolled around, I coaxed, "Only 1 mile left girls.  You are so strong."

All of a sudden, Bella got her second wind, and chimed in as though she was some sort of motivational speaker on a circuit, during a high school pep rally,  "C'mon Abby, 2 miles DOWN, only 1 left.  We GOT this THING!"

But Abby didn't look so convinced.  Bella started to ease ahead of us.  "Go ahead girl, we are right behind you," I said, not wanting to hold her back.  Abby and I fell into sync with each other.  As we crossed the bridge, with only a quarter of a mile to go, I looked over at Abby.  This was my very first time running with my daughter.  And here she was.  Sucking wind.  Sweating.  Pushing through.

My eyes started to tear up, pride filling my throat, so that I was barely able to eek out to her, "Abby, I'm so proud of you, babe."

There was something unexpected that happened as I watched her struggle, and then persevere through this physical hardship.  It felt as though my heart swelled with honor, gratification, and love on Saturday.  Not just for my girls.  But for all the little ones there, who never envisioned themselves accomplishing such a feat.  Running 3.1 miles is not for wimps...especially if you're in elementary school!

'Cause I know what it feels like to be unsure whether you're gonna make it or not.  To have a difficult time seeing the light, so to speak.  It's only when you reach deep within and do the extraordinary, do you find what you are really capable of.

I do believe I watched my daughter participate in that miracle on Saturday.  And I feel blessed to have been part of it.