Every Thursday night in August, a local running club puts on fun runs in Bush park. It is a very festive event with lots of spectators and cheering and tons of kids. We thought Eli, who loves to run with his Dada, would be giddy with the excitement of doing a "real" run of his own.
From the beginning, it was like pulling teeth.
Mama: "I need to go to this table and register you for the run."
Eli, whining: "I don't want to re-ister. No, I don't want."
Later, Mama: "I need to pay at this other table."
Eli, whining: "I don't want to pay. I don't want to pay at that table."
So when the 6 and under race (500 meters) was about to start, it was no wonder that Eli took to the sidelines to watch all the other kids stretch. Dada stretched and worked really hard to get Eli to stretch. Eli would have nothing to do with the stretching.
Then when everyone lined up to wait for the air horn, Eli slinked behind his Dada.
And when the airhorn went off, everyone dashed for the finish line! YAY! GO Runners! Everyone except Eli. Instead, he threw himself on the ground and cried.
After much cajoling, and perhaps some bribery (because we are here to have fun, damn it!), Eli started running. Not exactly enthusiastic about the whole thing, but he was running.
By the time he made it to the start of the chute, he wanted the whole thing to be over. Mama and Ewan had to run Eli through the chute to get a stick with his number on it. The stick was to be exchanged for his finisher's ribbon. Who wouldn't want his very own, very first, finisher's ribbon?
Eli: "I don't want to give back the stick. I want to keep the stick!"
Oh dear. Not boding well for the cross-country team.
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