My second oldest child recently wrapped up his first year running cross country for his middle school team. It was a season filled with challenges, commitment, and yes, quite a bit of heartache.
This isn’t your typical “I’m so proud of my kid because he won” narrative. No, this is a heartfelt tribute to my son for being a champion in his own right—even when he finished last.
You read that correctly. He lost. A lot. There were moments when I thought my heart might shatter witnessing his struggles. But he never sensed my worries. I would plaster on a supportive smile and cheer, “You’re doing great, buddy!” as he pushed through each race. Many times, he crossed that finish line while I held back tears—tears that embodied both sadness and pride. He never shed a tear himself, even though I could tell he wanted to.
The Courage to Compete
Let’s be honest; it had to be tough. Starting a race knowing you’re likely to come in last is no small feat. I can’t say I’d have the courage to do it. Early in the season, he came up with a variety of excuses to skip practice, but we stood firm. We wanted him to understand the value of being part of a team and how his presence mattered to his teammates. Eventually, he accepted his commitment and stopped trying to dodge practices.
A Mother’s Perspective
Let me provide some context. As his mother, I’ve always known that he isn’t the most athletic kid. He trips over his own feet—literally. However, when my partner, Jake, and I discovered that several of his friends were joining the team, we encouraged him to give it a try.
The conversation went something like this:
Me: “I think you should join the cross country team this year.”
Kid: “No thanks.”
Me: “Really, you might enjoy it.”
Kid: “Running isn’t my thing.”
Me: “But it could be if you gave it a chance.”
Kid: “I’d prefer not to.”
Me: “Okay, I’m signing you up. All your friends are doing it!”
Kid: (At this point, he just stared at me, probably thinking, “Did you not hear what I said, Mom?”)
Middle school can be a challenging time. We believed that by encouraging him to engage with his peers outside of the classroom, he might find new friendships. Plus, being part of a team could boost his confidence and allow him to step outside his comfort zone.
Despite his reluctance, I went ahead and registered him. Perhaps that’s why I felt an overwhelming sense of mom guilt—it was my decision. Jake and I made a pact with him that, unless he wants to, we will never again force him into a school sport. We’re okay with that agreement now. We thought we were instilling lessons about perseverance and teamwork, but in truth, he taught us something far more valuable.
A Moment of Triumph
During one of his final races, he managed to finish ahead of two other boys. As soon as he crossed the finish line, this incredible child turned around to cheer for those still running.
That moment was everything. I realized my son was truly winning—not in the conventional sense, but by embodying kindness and humility. Life is about picking yourself up and continuing to strive, regardless of how often you lose. And in that regard, he is a champion.
He may not be the fastest runner, but he’s the kind of teammate I’d want on my side—someone who gives his all and embraces the journey, win or lose. Lesson learned.
If you’re interested in more about family and parenting, check out our other posts, such as the one on home insemination kits. For those exploring parenthood, IVF Babble offers excellent resources. Plus, if you’re seeking reliable options, Impregnator is an authority on the subject.
In summary, my son’s experience taught us that victory isn’t solely defined by winning; it’s about character, kindness, and resilience.
Leave a Reply