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The Ache We Choose

February 19,  2024

 

Greetings from the day after,

 

There are aches and there are aches. 

 

The Austin marathon follows a roughly Texas-shaped squiggle through the city, pinging through various neighborhoods, past landmarks, along beautiful rivers and through pretty parks and interesting architecture.  And somehow includes every hill in the city. 

 

There are places in Texas that are flat but you would not have known it if you were running Austin.  Which is the source of much of the soreness in my body. 



As with most marathons I’ve run, I enjoyed seeing the people along the way, the runners I shared the road with and the witnesses who lined the roads cheering us on.  But this race was different for me, and for everyone else who was present.  I was running with my son, Carson, in his first marathon. 

 

This morning we will both be walking in that stilted, awkward, newborn giraffe kind of way.  Pushing up from a chair, or trying to put on jeans, or navigating a set of stairs, will be a painful process.  Stepping down a curb will be a thoughtful choice.  Perhaps there’s a ramp somewhere nearby?

 

This ache was self-inflicted, brought on by months of self-inflicted training which held its own aches.  So we don’t expect sympathy, although a little help stepping down that curb would be appreciated.

 

Luckily, we can do hard things.  It’s not the only lesson from running a marathon, but it’s a good one.

 

Carson has been on his own for a good portion of his life already, and so I feel confident that he can take care of himself, and better, he can do wonderful things with his choices.  But being a parent doesn’t end.  I was going to write more in that last sentence, but that was enough.

 

I watched my son glide through the miles in the first light of the morning yesterday, saw him push himself past the first hills, and find his groove in the first dozen miles.  I was aware of all of his training, and what sacrifice he had to make to fit in the time he needed to prepare for this, and I was as confident as he was that it would be a good experience.

 

I also know that some things we can’t prepare for, and in any marathon, especially the first, there can be challenges that can make a mockery of your plans.  So I watched Carson, paced along side him, confident in his ability, and still wary of what the marathon might ask of him.

 

We waved to the people on the sidewalks and read their goofy signs, and we whooped with the musicians who dotted the course, some elaborate rock groups, others a simple accordion.

 

Some months ago Carson told me he would like to run this race with me.  I imagined then it was because I had some experience that he would benefit from, but the truth is he just wanted to run his first marathon with me.  As I wrote that last sentence I had to stop to wipe my tears.  Being a parent doesn’t end.

 

The marathon presented miles and hills and time and cold and sun and we pressed through.  In the last miles, Carson felt the real challenge of the race, and ran up the toughest hill on the course, and he kept going.  Because he can do hard things.

 

This last year of law school is rigorous part of life for Carson.  He has dedicated himself to this path, and done amazing things in the last years.  I’m proud of his accomplishments, which I’ll also say applies to all of our children. 

 

It is also a time of transition for Carson.  Now his life stretches out in a myriad of possibilities, and there a surprises and challenges that wait, and a few that haven’t waited.  But I have great confidence in my son.  Because he can do hard things.  I’ve seen it, not just in the marathon, but in dozens of things he’s experienced.

 

Thankfully life is not all challenges, but when they come it matters how we face them.  How we prepare, what we have learned, what we want to happen.  How all of that unfolds tells a lot about a person. It was inspiring to watch Carson work through the challenges of the marathon, in the middle of a life of challenging days. 

 

We trained our muscles for months to get ready for the marathon, punishing our legs with miles of preparation, in early mornings and difficult weather. And it paid off.  I grabbed Carson’s hand as we ran the last steps and we raised our arms together and I crossed the finish line with my son.  In that special moment felt the joy wrapped inside the ache, one I’ll remember as long as I am a parent.

 

There are aches and there are aches.  No matter what brings them, the best answer is to keep moving in the direction you choose.  Now, I’ll go see about stepping down that curb.

 

 

Hope this finds you feeling the ache, and the joy,

 

 

David

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright © 2024 David Smith

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