My 6 year old granddaughter thinks she would like to swim/bike/run. She also thinks she would like to learn more about using my computer. The other day I was showing her how to pull up and view photos. She went through every photo and movie of my latest effort July 14th at the Aggieland Triathlon. When she came to the one of me crossing the finish line she saw I was finishing by myself. Probably, she thought I was finishing first and said, "you always win."
How do I explain age groups to her? How do I tell her that even on my best day, if I can only beat 50% of the participants? How do I tell her that I am just another old middle-of-the-pack person doing this because I love it? How do I tell her that really, I don't always win?
Yeah, I love this stuff even if I might finish last someday. But, no matter how I finish, I still feel so blessed to have the health, the will, and the ability to do this; to be an inspiration for those who come behind me. After 47 triathlons, I have found no downside to this life, other than I wish I had found it earlier. I have never regretted doing an event, only the ones I did not attempt. So strike one up for the wisdom of a child. My granddaughter is right after all: Yeah, I do win every time.
Showing posts with label granddaughter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label granddaughter. Show all posts
Monday, July 22, 2013
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
That's You
“That’s you, Pop-Pop.”
“What?”
“That’s you,” my granddaughter said again as she pointed to a picture in one of triathlon magazines.
“It is?” I was amazed. She was showing me a picture of one of my favorite pro triathletes with arms raised, crossing an Ironman finish line.
Again, “that’s you, Pop-Pop.” A feeling of sadness crept in upon me. Only in my dreams, I thought.
“I love you for saying that, but that is someone else.”
I didn’t tell her, of course, that crossing that Ironman finish is now only a dream of mine; only a vision of myself as I would be, if it were possible; if I could. Revisiting a lost dream brought me down just a bit. Here I am, with the opportunity passed, wasted if you will, in my late sixties; a little old to be an Ironman rookie. That picture my granddaughter was looking at was of a younger athlete, who lined up and realized his dream. Of course, my granddaughter sees me differently than I see myself. She has seen me swim, bike, and run since before she could walk. Of course, she has this larger-than-life view of me. Her vision is a child’s vision. It is just not real. Or is it? Perhaps she sees me, as the song says, “not as I am but how I could be?” Perhaps, in her naiveté, her innocence, her lack of prior assumptions, she does indeed see the reality that my preconceptions won’t let me see? Perhaps, God is trying to tell me something through the love and admiration of a child?
“That’s you, Pop-Pop,” she said again softly.
“You may be right,” I finally conceded.
Over the next few days, the limited vision of myself began to free itself from the mire. Courage slowly began to outweigh fear and doubt. Obedience began to replace the false security of giving up on a dream. A fresh wind blew in upon my soul as my expanded vision looked toward embracing the journey and the adventure. Maybe I am too old, but I am not too old to try. Maybe I can’t be that Ironman finisher that my granddaughter sees me to be, but I can try to be. And, just maybe I will be. I have been called to attempt this, no doubt. There is no other good choice but obedience, no matter. I prayed. I prayed hard. When I went to my computer, I became a little short of breath. I signed up for Ironman Texas http://ironmantexas.com/. It is crazy, I know, but I must at least line up in obedience for the chance to be that man in my picture, to try to be that finisher in my granddaughter's eyes. That’s me. She was right.
“What?”
“That’s you,” my granddaughter said again as she pointed to a picture in one of triathlon magazines.
“It is?” I was amazed. She was showing me a picture of one of my favorite pro triathletes with arms raised, crossing an Ironman finish line.
Again, “that’s you, Pop-Pop.” A feeling of sadness crept in upon me. Only in my dreams, I thought.
“I love you for saying that, but that is someone else.”
I didn’t tell her, of course, that crossing that Ironman finish is now only a dream of mine; only a vision of myself as I would be, if it were possible; if I could. Revisiting a lost dream brought me down just a bit. Here I am, with the opportunity passed, wasted if you will, in my late sixties; a little old to be an Ironman rookie. That picture my granddaughter was looking at was of a younger athlete, who lined up and realized his dream. Of course, my granddaughter sees me differently than I see myself. She has seen me swim, bike, and run since before she could walk. Of course, she has this larger-than-life view of me. Her vision is a child’s vision. It is just not real. Or is it? Perhaps she sees me, as the song says, “not as I am but how I could be?” Perhaps, in her naiveté, her innocence, her lack of prior assumptions, she does indeed see the reality that my preconceptions won’t let me see? Perhaps, God is trying to tell me something through the love and admiration of a child?
“That’s you, Pop-Pop,” she said again softly.
“You may be right,” I finally conceded.
Over the next few days, the limited vision of myself began to free itself from the mire. Courage slowly began to outweigh fear and doubt. Obedience began to replace the false security of giving up on a dream. A fresh wind blew in upon my soul as my expanded vision looked toward embracing the journey and the adventure. Maybe I am too old, but I am not too old to try. Maybe I can’t be that Ironman finisher that my granddaughter sees me to be, but I can try to be. And, just maybe I will be. I have been called to attempt this, no doubt. There is no other good choice but obedience, no matter. I prayed. I prayed hard. When I went to my computer, I became a little short of breath. I signed up for Ironman Texas http://ironmantexas.com/. It is crazy, I know, but I must at least line up in obedience for the chance to be that man in my picture, to try to be that finisher in my granddaughter's eyes. That’s me. She was right.
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