PROUD

See this pretty girl here? With the smile on her face and the spring in her step? She’s my youngest. And my friends, SHE walked a marathon yesterday morning. Kind of. 

She was supposed to do a real one, here in San Antonio, the final requirement for a class she’s in this semester. But she ended up getting cast in a play that opened this weekend and couldn’t get down here in time for the real run, so her professor gave her permission to do the walk on her own time with her roommate proctoring her. She tried to approximate the real event as much as possible – she even started at 7:15am, bless her heart.

The eldest and I were in town to see the play Saturday night, so we hung around in the morning to cheer her on in this athletic endeavor. We parked the van by the football stadium at a spot on her circular route, and every thirty minutes or so when she passed us, we got out to hoot and holler and hand her a water bottle and a protein bar (or candy bar – I know what motivates my girl).

When the young ‘un told me in August that she had signed up for a marathon class, I was stunned. For a moment, I feared that her OCD was flaring up again and forcing her into some crazy life choices. “Marathon? Did I hear that right? In what universe does this make sense for you?” Apparently, she needs a physical education credit for her degree in the spring, and this was the only class that fit her schedule. We were grateful that walking was an option, ‘cause running . . . no.

But a marathon, y’all. That's 13.1 miles of walking. For realz.

My girls are tremendously gifted, but not in the area of athletics. Their dad is the athlete; they unfortunately inherited their mama’s genes in this department. (Case in point: the first time I walked her direction from the “sidelines” yelling and waving a water bottle, I slipped on the concrete and fell flat on my face. I mean, I don’t think I even tripped on anything. I just fell. Twisted my foot up a little bit doing it, too. Dang it.)

I’ve held out a bit of hope that this might be The Start of Something New in my girl’s life. Over Thanksgiving as I joined her on a forty-minute training walk, I asked if she felt like this had been good for her. Yes, she admitted. She felt better. She had more energy. More focus. But she still couldn’t wait for the class to be over so she could quit.

Yep. She’s her mama’s child. All three of us bemoan our lack of discipline in physical fitness. And lack of desire. And lack even of concern, most of the time.

So, the pride I felt yesterday morning was real, friends. I’ve been in college. I know the pressure and the temptation to take shortcuts when you can. She was kind of on the honor system here: she had to take a selfie before she started and a selfie when she was done – and her proctor had to time her and verify the time – but of course, she could have faked it. She could have easily cheated on this and gotten away with it.

But she didn’t. My daughter walked 13.1 miles Sunday morning . . . with a smile on her face and a spring in her step. In three hours and forty minutes – twenty minutes faster than her goal. I’m just stinkin’ proud of my girl.