Track Dad

It is Father's Day, and I would love to share a great story about my dad.  I think he might appreciate knowing that this is a vivid memory from my childhood, and I also think it will be a great memory to record in writing for years to come.

Back in the day, when I was a wee little one, track & field was a very huge part of my life.  We always joked around that my dad was "track dad".  "Track dad" was a common phrase we used to describe my dad's enthusiasm for races and my track career, his ever-present stopwatch, his unusually audible cheering, and his genuine interest in following every one of my athletic pursuits.

During one of my youthful track & field seasons (5th grade, I think?!), I made it to USATF Nationals in the 800 meters.  I was very prepared for this race, and I had worked hard to get there.  Naturally, given that this was a national competition, I was extremely nervous.  I was in a position to potentially win the race, and I was hoping for the best.

Honestly, I don't remember too much of the race, but I do remember the last 300 meters.  I think I must have been in 4th place coming into the last lap.  As I came around the curve, I heard my coach just screaming and screaming, "Go Carolyn! Make your move!".  Several times I heard the words, "Make your move!".

I gave everything in that race.  I tried to "make my move".  I tried with every last ounce of my heart and mind, but my little legs just would not move any faster.  Not only did I not "make my move", but I didn't make much of any move.  I ended up finishing the race in 4th place, exactly where I was when I heard my coach screaming.  I did not win.  I did not pass anybody in the last 100 meters.  I did not make my move.

As I caught my breath after the race, I had mixed emotions.  I was glad that the race was over, but I was sad that I hadn't won.  I was disappointed that I didn't sprint through the finish line with flying colors.  I was frustrated that my body stopped me from going faster at the end.  I began to wonder how my family and my coach would respond.  In my mind, there was a good chance that they would question why I hadn't been able to sprint the last 100 meters.  I was getting revved up to explain myself and defend my race.

As I walked off the track to meet my parents, I could see my dad in the distance.  With every step that I got closer, the silhouette  of my dad became clearer.  What I saw as I came up to him surprised me, and it left a vivid and lasting memory in my mind.  As I walked up to my dad, there he stood, with his arms wide open and a huge grin across his face.  He was not disappointed, and he did not ask me why I hadn't gone faster.  On the contrary, he ran up to me and immediately scooped me up off the ground.  I was just pint size, probably only 40 pounds or so, and he lifted me high above his head saying, "You did it!  Great job!  You did it, Carolyn!!".  As he brought me back down from above his head, he embraced my tiny frame with a tight hug.  In that moment, my dad could not have been prouder of his little runner.

He knew me well, and he could tell that I had given everything I had in that race.  He could tell that I had left everything out on the track.  So, even though I didn't finish first, and even though I failed to "make my move", he was there waiting for me with open arms and a proud smile.

I will always remember that moment.  I will always remember being hoisted in the air like a champion.  I will always remember that race as one of the best races I ever ran.  It's funny how someone else's perception of your performance can change your own.

Sometimes I try to explain "track dad" to people, but they just don't get it.  Honestly, I don't mind that they don't get it.  It's hard to explain, and it doesn't mean anything to them.  But it means a lot to me, and it will always be a lasting memory of who my dad is.

I love my dad.  I love the memories I have of him out on the track.  Whenever somebody asks me what my dad is like, I generally respond with, "Well, my dad is "track dad".  Let me explain..."