Yesterday, for the first time since I started training for the half marathon, I ran with my 15-year-old son, Caleb.
I mapped out a 4 mile run with a moderate degree of difficulty for us. Difficulty meaning hills. The weather cooperated for once – 34°, sunny, and just a tiny little breeze. For February, I couldn’t complain.
I assumed Caleb might struggle a little. Since I’ve started my training, he hasn’t run once. I often run before he is even awake on the weekend. Not yesterday. I woke him up at 11:00am, allowing him a solid 30 minutes to roll out of bed. I fixed him a hot breakfast of eggs and toast and gave him another 40 minutes to digest his food.
At 12:10pm, we started off with a slow jog to warm up.
What can I say? One should never assume.
I immediately struggled. Despite a considerable amount of stretching, my calves were tight from yesterday’s 2 miles on snow-covered trails. I encouraged Caleb to run ahead.
Finally, after stopping briefly to stretch twice, at the one mile mark, I hit a good stride. Caleb still had little, if any, trouble keeping up with me. Stride for stride, there was just no comparison.
Who was I kidding? While Caleb may only be 2 or 3 inches taller than me, his hips come up to my rib cage. He can basically walk and keep up with my jog.
I learned two things yesterday. One, to assume only makes an ass out of me and, two, one should never run with giants.