She was notably quiet with her objections. In fact, she didn’t object.

In the few months since she has taken up the sport she has locked in her training, got in her runs, and been getting increasingly faster and stronger. Having only vague memories of my own initial training in my early thirties its tough to compare—but I’m pretty sure that her being just nineteen years old has given her a few fitness advantages over both early running me, and me now at nearly five-oh.

In other words, she’s getting fast, by noticeable measures. 

I didn’t want to hold her back out of some weird obligation for hanging out and running with the “old man” because after all we had been to Park Run together a few times already, I’d imparted my wisdom upon her (as limited as that was) and we’d taken a few commemorative selfies to mark her entry into the sport.  Now was the time for her to see what she might be capable of.

She was ahead of us within the first five steps off the start, and became little more than a blur in the distance ahead of me. She didn’t win. She didn’t place. She didn’t even get the top position in her age group.  But she sure as heck outran me… and I had my best five klicks of the season.

I’m torn between a lot of emotions, but I think I’ll settle on proud dad. Being crushed by the next generation is just part of it all, huh?