Amazed and Amused

Prom day for Kennedy High School! Daughter Grace getting hairdo and makeup. Me getting more $$$ from the ATM. It's expensive, all that beautifying (plus portraits, dinner, flowers, etc.) At the last minute I decide there is no way I can get her ready and still make the Tri Team morning workout in Folsom, so I instead meet up with a bicycle group nearer our house. I practice hill after hill at Garcia Bend, plus negotiating tight turns and other moves (which I understand will be important when cycling in a pack on the crowded race course). It's raining; the empty playground and its perimeter path make an ideal track to improve my steering. One wrong move and I'll be in the mud. This is quite motivational.

Later, I take the dogs on a run-walk in the neighborhood. To save time, I don't bother with the fancy running shoes; I just keep on the old favorites I wear while cycling. Within a mile, the left knee starts smarting. It's probably the hamstring injury of 2005 acting up. I'll have to make the effort to put on the new shoes, plus wrap the knee, before going out next time. How, I scold myself, will I be able to manage race day transitions between swimming, biking and running, if I am so undisciplined?

Each day, I will extend the local run route a bit more. I'll know I am making in difference when I can hit 3 miles without a hitch (or a stitch in my side). I'll also know because plump little Honey dog will start losing that stuffed sausage look.

That evening, with other parents watching the girls and their dates get ready to leave for dinner and dance, I ask Patty (who is wearing her Boston Marathon jacket) how many miles she usually runs in a day. My mouth drops open when she casually replies, "Oh, today about 10." She is so matter-of-fact about an accomplishment that seems to me an impossibility. I am in awe of her, and I am glad that someone who's a busy mom like me can achieve so much. Her enthusiasm for the sport is contagious. The 22 prom-goers pile excitedly into their hired stretch limo; amused, we parents snap our final photos and wave good-bye. The paparazzi go home to suppers at the kitchen table. The gowned and tuxed kids are out on the town.

It's fun to think that tonight, as we see our jeans-wearing daughters magically transformed into high heeled glamour girls, some of us oldsters are also in the process of transformation. Me, non-competitive. Me, never on a real athletic team. See me swim ... bike ... run. See me surprised that I am enjoying this. See me, well, amazed.