Today was Alfie’s Athletics Carnival. Being grouped in the Kindy to Year 2 event the day was more about participation than competition. For me I had to make sure Alfie was dressed in his house colours (that would be the blue house), pack him a lunch box, a water bottle, douse him in sunscreen, throw a hat on his head and he was ready to compete. Except that he insisted we buy blue hairspray on the way to school so he could turn his hair and just about every other part of him, blue.
Alfie had asked me to be there to watch him and so because I knew I would be criss-crossing all over the oval, I sensibly decided to wear my workout gear (that is never used for workouts) and my joggers (that are never used for jogging).
The first event of the day was the ‘chuck the chicken’ event. Not too sure what the educational or athletic benefits are for this but here’s Alfie in action and clearly, taking it very seriously.
Next was the ‘watch the ball’ contest.
Then it was the seriousness of the sack race.
All athletes need a break so then it was morning tea.
Then Alfie’s teacher gave him the big half-time pep talk.
Break over, the competition reached fever-pitch with the ‘running-with-a-chicken-between-your-legs’ race.
Then the events went up a notch with the highly competitive 100mtr sprint.
Looking more and more like an avatar, Alfie has an ‘I’m a Good Sport’ ribbon pinned to his T-shirt because unlike my day, ribbons aren’t given to the first three place-getters, these days everyone is given a ribbon.
And just when we thought the day was over, they called for the ‘Mother’s Race’. Who knew! So Alfie ran over and grabbed me and begged and pleaded that I participate in this 100mtr dash for glory. I do like a bit of competition so I lined myself up with the other mothers and there were so many of us they decided to divide us into groups – age groups. I believe that was cruel and uncalled for especially for those who found themselves in the oldest age group and I’m not going to say whether or not I was in that bracket, I’m just going to say that I do believe, being put in the ‘old’ category would certainly draw out your competitive spirit and give you an edge over the competition.
That could be how I leapt out of starting blocks like the best of the Olympians and hurtled down the track causing every spectator to stop and gasp. Yes, I won! I won the Mother’s Race. And not by a a few metres but somehow by about 30 metres. And the only cameraman I had on hand to capture my moment of glory was Alfie. This is the best of the shots he captured.
And that was, a beautiful winter’s day in Sydney.
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