Color Run is referred to as the "Happiest 5k on the Planet," a slogan that, whether it was planned or not, reminds one of the slogan for Disneyland. You know, Disneyland, the Happiest Place on Earth.
Unless you're a 5-year-old.
If you're a 5-year-old, Disneyland is the Most Epic Tantrum Place on Earth.
I should have kept that in mind before signing Older Boy and myself up for the Run.
I should first explain that Older Boy is very proud of his mother for running OCRs. Last year, when he was 4, he eagerly asked to enter several tot trots, or "running races." His first running race, his shoe came off not once, but twice, which led to him sitting down and bawling on the road. Running race 2 and 3 were only nominally better. I offered to run with him around the neighborhood, but much to my disappointment, after running past 3 houses, he would say he was tired and give up. When I heard about the Color Run, I had high hopes that he would finally get bitten by the running bug and we would be able to bond over races. I showed him videos of the event, and he excitedly asked to do it. We signed up as a team with one his friends, K, and his K's mother, and Older Boy would chatter to anyone who would listen about the Color Run.
The Color Run was held in Charlotte at Lowe's Motor Speedway on November 17th. Older Boy was absolutely stoked to be running near the race track. As we walked from the car to the race area, I kept having to tell him to stop running, as mommy, with her full bladder, was in no shape to run yet. He was positively pulsing with excitement. After a stop at the porta-potties, we met up with our running partners and he and K excitedly danced around while waiting for our start.
Initially, Older Boy did great. He ran and jogged along, chatting with his friend. However, before the 1st kilometer had even been run, he declared running was too hard and started pouting. Frustrated and embarrassed by his escalating temper tantrum, I picked him up and started carrying him. Some people noticed and commented on my hauling my 42 lb son up-and-down a hill; clearly, my Spartan training was coming in handy. Eventually, he agreed to use his own two legs and I put him down and he walked and jogged some more. We came to the first color station, however, and he refused to walk through with his eyes open. I agreed to hold his hand and guide him through while he kept his eyes closed. K and his mom ran through happily, while Older Boy grimly marched through the color. Afterwards, he got upset that he did not get enough color on him. So at the second station, I made sure to guide him through even slower. My reward? Red color directly sprayed in my left eye.
At least, at that point, neither one of us was happy.
Older Boy perked up a little at the water stop, agreeing to jog a little even, but for the most part, he walked, which was fine with me. I just wanted him to keep moving on his own. Things appeared to be going better until right at the end, when the finish line came into sight. K and K's mom (a runner) eagerly took off running towards the finish line. I asked Older Boy if he wanted to run across the finish line; he said no. And then he stopped walking. Ready for it to be done already, I scooped him up and started running, less than 75 yards from the finish. Somehow, this made him even more upset and he started screaming in my arms and flailing. I put him down and he ran away from me. On the bright side, he actually did run towards the finish line, but then he stopped short. I went up to him, grabbed his hand, and we walked across the finish line. Finally, it was over.
We met back up with K and K's mom. The boys had a grand time opening up their packets of color and smearing each other with them. After 15 minutes, we were ready to leave and said goodbye to our partners. Walking back towards the car, wouldn't you know it, I had to yell at Older Boy for running.
*sigh*
My hopes of Older Boy being bitten by the running bug were soundly dashed. As we drove home in silence, I realized that he was not going to be the little runner buddy that I had been hoping he would become. I decided it was time to let go of that hope and just enjoy him for the child that he is. As much as I would like to share my love of racing with him, he simply is not - and may never be - cut out for it. It was a hard pill to swallow, but after a good night's sleep, the disappointment has worn off to a large degree. It is what it is, and he is who he is.
Who knew mothering could be so messy?
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