Monday, November 5, 2012

spectator

I attended one cross race this season (as a spectator, duh).
And I forgot my cowbell.
As we approached the venue (West Chester Cross at Bayard Rustin High School, minutes from home), my nerves inexplicably got a hold of me.  
Not wanting to miss my dad's start, I hopped out of the car while Bill parked and made my way to the grid.
By then, I felt the all too familiar pangs of full-on pre-race jitters.
Between the smell of embrocation in the air and the caution tape flapping in the wind, I felt queasy and anxious (not morning sickness this time, trust me).
And I wasn't even racing...

My dad had one of those "not my day" races (the kind we all seem to have when friends and family come out in force to cheer and spectate), but I'm glad I got to stand on the hillside and watch him hurry over the barriers and fly down the steep grassy slope.

I'm glad one of us is out there doing our thing.

  




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