Sight for sore legs

There was a time when I used to enjoy running, perhaps tolerate is a better verb. This was primarily before child #4 came along. I was doing garage workouts similar to Crossfit WOD's, the only difference was that I didn't go around talking incessantly about how I do Crossfit.

INT: WE ARE AT A DINNER PARTY, GUESTS ARE MINGLING IN THEIR EVENING WEAR, AND MOST ARE HOLDING A BEVERAGE IN ONE HAND AS THEY TALK CAUSALLY WITH OTHER GUESTS.

HOST:     

I read recently that China's lack of infrastructure development, could potentially cause a                     massive collapse in its economy.  

CROSSFITTER (Feigning interest):         

It's funny because I was just thinking the other day that if I don't emphasize mobility in my Crossfit WOD's more, my time in some of the benchmark WOD's could suffer.

HOST:    

I'm afraid I don't see the connection.

CROSSFITTER:       

Is this dip Paleo?

HOST:     

I'm not sure what that means.

CROSSFITTER (Yelling):          

Crossfit !!!!!

In an effort to stay fit and to get out of the house, I would regularly load up E, Z, and H into a massive triple jogger stroller. The idea that seeing a man running down the sidewalk pushing a humongous stroller with 3 kids in it, never struck me as unique. However, every time I went out it never failed that I would get at least one honk from a passing car whose driver would give me a wave or a thumbs up. At first I thought I was just seeing people that knew me from work or something. As time passed and the pattern continued, I began to understand that passing cars were equally amused and impressed at the sight of a father pushing his 3 kids whilst out for a run.

I think people overestimated the difficulties I must have been experiencing. People probably assumed that the added weight of pushing 3 toddlers, must have infinitely increased the trials and tribulations of an otherwise leisurely jog. While I can attest that the 3 kids and jogger stroller added some resistance to my run, particularly on hills, the reality is it probably was not that much more difficult than when an octogenarian decides to add some hand and ankle weights to their mall walking routine.

The ego boost I received from passing cars probably took 20-30 seconds off of my mile, it was great feeling like some sort of Super Dad. On one occasion one guy rolled by, and shouted out of his open window, "You the man!". Thanks random stranger, I am the man. Not only am I great father for spending time with my kids, but my cardiovascular conditioning must be on par with triathletes..."I'm the Ironman!"

I sometimes wonder what kinds of memories my kids will have of me. Will they remember the times we went running? Will they remember how they used to shout green-light, and daddy would sprint as fast as he could pushing them in the stroller as they raised their hands over the heads screaming gleefully like they were on a roller coaster? Will they remember the countless trips to the park, or the times mommy and daddy would take them to the Farmer's Market? Will they fondly recall the times we had movie night, and ate popcorn and drank chocolate milk?

There is a running joke in my family, about how I was always changing what I wanted to be when I grew up. My parents and brother can all confirm, that at one time or another I wanted to be: an actor, a professional wrestler, a comic book artist, a chef, a rock star, an advertising executive, and a slew of other things. The fact that I came to finding my career as a teacher at the ripe old age of 36 is likely correlated to my constant fluctuation in career paths as a child. As I stated, I'm a teacher, but I've come to realize that's not how I want to be remembered. I want to be remembered as a good dad and husband. The highest achievement I could have would be for my grown kids to say, "Dad, you remember that time we...?" "You were a great dad."

So, with all of that in mind...

Mom, among other things, thanks for making that watermelon cake with green icing for my birthday that one year. You went to Bloomington one time for work, thanks for bringing home those He-man action figures that turned into rocks. Thanks for coming to all of my football games, and even though I acted like I was embarrassed because you were so loud and you always had that noise maker shakey thing...I secretly appreciated it. Thanks for telling me that I'd make a good teacher.

Dad, among other things, thanks for taking me to Olive Garden on quite a few of my birthdays. Thanks for taking me to Wrestlemania VIII, even though I'm pretty sure you don't like professional wrestling. I wish I would've returned the favor and gone fishing with you more, even though I'm pretty sure I don't like fishing. Admittedly, I sometimes thought you only had me and Nathan, because you wanted help with yard work...but, thanks for making me mow the yard, trim the hedges, shovel the driveway, etc. You should know I still hear your voice in my head, telling me if I'm going to do something, do it right. Thanks for giving me a couple of hundred bucks the day I moved my family to Las Vegas...you said it was to help with moving costs, but I know you just wanted to give me something tangible so that I knew you loved me. Also, thanks for not telling me I made a mistake when less than a year later, I moved my family back to Indiana.

Mom and Dad, you remember that time you asked the neighbors to put the presents under our tree while we were all at Grandma's house? And when we got home we thought Santa visited us?  You were great parents.