My dad gave me his running gene. We discovered that he also gave me his art gene this morning when he attempted to draw a scuba diver for Asa. (The diver did make a passable dump truck when it was turned sideways.) I woke up at 2:30am today and couldn’t get back to sleep. The week’s “To Do” list must be weighing on my mind. I have to write a lot of business letters and formal composition stresses me out. Or, maybe it’s a guilty conscience keeping me up. Shouldn’t have pulled the wings off all those flies yesterday.
Asa came out to the Saint Mary’s Hall track about five hours into the run on Saturday. The little guy ran along with me for about six laps. The boy has some stamina. (Don’t worry, I’ll wait until he’s at least four before pressuring him to enter his first ultra.) The mother and son fun ended when Asa hollered “I need to poop! NOW!” The boy was overcome by this urge at the farthest possible point on the track from the school’s bathrooms. I hauled him down a hill and we ducked behind a tree. The tree kind of shielded us from the track, but left us visible to people driving in the main gate and some people in their backyards. I’d been running around a track for five hours and was having trouble holding Asa in an appropriate position, so I didn’t really care. Thankfully the boy’s bowels seized up and we were able to carry on around the track until I could hand him off to my mother. (Me: “Take him to the bathroom ASAP!” Asa: “I don’t have to go to the bathroom!” Me: “Take him anyway!” Asa: “Mo-om, I want to run with you!” Me: “After you go to the bathroom. I have to keep running now.” Asa: “I don’t want to go!” My mom: “He says he doesn’t have to go.” Me: “Take him anyway. I’m running away now.”) I circled the track slowly keeping my eye on the two of them until I was sure they were heading off to the restroom. 12 hours around a track, I can do. 12 hours around a track, while trying to patiently mother a 3 year-old? No. Thankfully my parents are saints. They took Asa home shortly afterwards and he slept for the rest of the afternoon — his feet stained red from running barefoot on the track.