Whenever we play outside, Seth yells, “Run, daddy, RUN!” Usually we’re at a small park near our house where I chase him like a deranged monster from tree to tree, which are considered “safe.” Seth runs pretty slow, even for a 3.5-year-old, so I usually shuffle my legs in a mock run to avoid leaving him in the dust.
I should note that while I’ve been a long-distance runner since my teen years, I’m content to wait and see where his natural abilities evolve. I don’t care if he loves swimming, basketball or surfing, I’ll back him 100 percent.
But imagine my surprise Sunday afternoon when Seth, who wears shoes that blink on every step, said “run,” and did so like the Energizer Bunny Rabbit. We ran out of our housing complex and up a 6 percent grade to the stoplight almost half a mile away.
We stopped for breaks, but the entire trip there was on his power. Then we ran back. He finally pooped out the last 200 feet or so, but I’m pretty sure Seth ran nearly a mile overall.
I was flabbergasted. Amused. And very, very proud. I told him so over and over. Seth may change his mind down the road, but here’s what he said after the run:
“Maybe some day when I’m older I’ll go running by myself.”
I responded: “Absolutely.” Blinking shoes and all.