Summer Love

Before I was married, I always took care of myself, exercised and ate well, but I never joined any sports in high school or college. I was more of an independent half-assed health nut, never much of a team player (I don't mention that on my resume). I ate low fat, but don't you dare try to take my chocolate or coffee. Then I married into a very athletic, competitive family. My husband was a competitive distance runner in high school and college, has run some marathons, and is currently training for a decathalon. When the weather is nice in the spring, summer, and much of the fall, we spend one evening a week at the track where Coach Grandpa, my father-in-law, a recently retired althletic director for a local tech school, trains the kids, my husband, and anyone else willing to learn in speed work, pole vault, hurdles, long jump, discus, whatever.

So last night we were all at the track: The Girl, Big J, Eighty-Eight Fingers, The Fellers, Hubz and myself. The three little guys were zipping around, spinning from one toy to another like tops. First javelin fighting, then tossing some tennis balls , on to the hot wheels Grandpa brought, running up and down the track like greased lightening. I am not a "trackie", so I don't know the technical term for where we were on the track. All I can tell you is we were stationed generally at the south end/curve. After a few minutes, the twins started drifting farther and farther toward the north loop, eventually running down the track in that direction, their little bodies waddling to and fro, arms akimbo, small legs pumpiing away. So cute to see the two of them running. But why so far away? It is not like them to take off like that.

Since I was the odd man, um, woman out, I strolled down the track to see what the big deal was at the north end. You wouldn't believe what I found. A girl. A cute little girl in a pretty pink dress. Hair done up in pretty pig-tails and barretts. The Fellers were chasing a skirt. And they were out to impress. They walked up to her, giggling, grins stretched from ear to ear, one touching the right arm, one the left, babbling away to her in Twinnish. They actually don't use Twinnish so much around the house anymore because they know more "real" words, but the pretty girl in the skirt was making them gaga. She had no idea what the heck they were saying (join the club lady) but she was more than willing to follow them to the soccer net and get her feet tangled up with them. Ah, young love. The relationship was brief. Soon her mother packed her into a stroller and wheeled her away, Coach Grandpa yelling after her , laughing, not to wear a skirt to track practice next time. My Fellers little hearts were broken. Until they rediscovered the abandoned Hot Wheels, that is. Nothing like a little biking and some cherry flavored juice boxes to cure a broken heart.