Last night, Rogue put on a Christmas lights run through adjacent neighborhoods. Instead of my usual training session, I brought the family out and we ran the more informal tour of lights.
B was in a Mood right from the start. “Why do we have to run? Why do you make me do this? Running isn’t fuuuuuuuun!” He got progressively grumpier each time I asked him to run on the sidewalk or the street rather than on the curb. I ignored most of his grinchy-ness, but his tiptoeing along the curb like it was a balance beam was just asking for a broken ankle, and that was my line in the sand. Each time (I think the grand total was six) I griped at him, he took off sprinting ahead of us on the sidewalk. That’ll teach me, I guess.
It was a beautiful evening–cool and a little breezy–and Christmas lights twinkled on houses while the full moon loomed huge overhead.
I didn’t think B was up to the full five-mile loop, so we cut off the last mile and headed back. The faster runners (who’d completed that extra mile) caught up to us, and we tried to keep pace with them the last half-mile. I couldn’t quite do that, but I kept them in my sights at least.
When we got back, snacks and beer awaited us. We socialized a bit–well M and I did. B flung himself over one of the benches in dramatic fashion, still complaining about the torture of running with his family through a neighborhood of festive lights. Mister Grinch aside, I had a good time and I got in a solid four-mile run with a little bit of speed there at the end.
It wasn’t quite the fun family event I’d envisioned, but someday perhaps B will look back on our family runs and think that “Maybe Christmas … doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas, perhaps… means a little bit more”