Mother in Law: This sporting life

‘Do you ever swear?’ Deceptively Angelic Child 1 (DALC 1) asked me last week when we were on our way to her district athletics competition. We are beyond the point in her life when ‘shut up’ was very, very bad language, all thanks to the boys in her class who all seem to need a bar of soap shoved in their mouths. I deliberated over my answer. I told both kids once that I had never been drunk, expecting them to know I was kidding, but they thought I was serious and I’ve played along ever since. But generally I do try to be honest with them.

‘A rare and well-timed swear word can have a huge amount of impact,’ I said. We arrived at the athletics track, me in my maxi dress and oversized sun hat (if my skin was a Farrow & Ball colour it would be ‘Icy Vein’) and her in the T-shirt with the school logo on she had been lent for the competition, proud as punch. Her dad was meeting us there when DALC2 was dropped off.

I’d never been to a district sports competition. I had always walked purposefully and quietly in the opposite direction when it was mentioned by teachers when I was at school. But here we were. DALC1 had been chosen to do the 400m, the longest race of the day, which I am fairly sure is what you get lumbered with when all the faster runners have taken the places in the shorter races. In the course of the next six hours we saw enough for me to write a book about human nature – in particular what we should be teaching our kids and what we can learn from them.

I didn’t really know what to expect. I had brought lots of snacks as I wanted to be that mum. I even graciously gave one to the kid who has been making DALC1’s life hell for the last nine months, without even spitting on it first. The sweary boys were all there and I could see that this day – this one day – was the day when some of them got to shine.

Then came time to start. Obviously, DALC1’s race was about 127th in the running order so we cheered everyone else on, including the beastly child. Because it was cancelled last year due to the weather, and before that because of Covid, most of these kids have never done anything remotely like this. The other schools were much bigger and better organised. One team (suspiciously, the team from the school who organised the event) seemed to dominate in both team size and individual child size, and were all wearing matching tracksuits. I could see DALC1 and her friends looking over in awe, immediately intimidated. It was huge for these small-village schoolchildren to walk on to the track next to children from other schools, in front of all the other kids and parents, and do their thing – or possibly not their thing because their thing is playing the piano or getting all their spellings right but they were selected anyway due to a lack of choice.

The first few races were a disaster. Our fairly decent short distance sprinters all fell flat on their faces, one after the other, because they weren’t used to the springy surface. It was an actual blood bath.

It didn’t help that the rules were unclear and it turned out these children had had very little practice at school. We clarified with the teachers that, as soon as the 400m race started, the kids could all head to the innermost lane. They did not have to stay in their lane. Which is lucky, as this is what I’ve been telling DALC1 her whole life.

I should say that I had taken DALC1 and a boy in her class, James, who was also doing the 400m, to the park to practise a few times before the event. Because they ‘hate’ each other, one would push the other one over as soon as they got close to overtaking and then wrestling would ensue. How many years do we give it until they start dating?

Anyway, I expect you think I’m going to tell you DALC1 won the race in the style of all good against-the-odds sporting stories. In fact, what happened was this. I moved about two-thirds of the way round the track so that I could cheer her on at a different point to her dad.

Like all finely honed, strategically trained elite athletes who listen to their parents’ advice she went hell for leather at the beginning. My heart sank and my stomach lurched – there was no way she could keep this up. When she came round the bend and saw me, she literally stopped and her eyes filled with tears. I knew for her own dignity and pride she had to finish this race. With my hat and sandals flying off behind me, I jumped on the track, grabbed her hand and ran with her, stopping when she knew the end was in sight. It wasn’t quite as emotional as Alistair Brownlee carrying his brother over the finishing line in the 2016 World Triathlon Series, but it was close.

So what can we all take away from my first district sports competition?

• We might not be the team/family/law firm with the matching tracksuits but do we really want to be? In how many films do they turn out to be the heroes?
• Cheer everyone else on. In life.
• We all have different strengths and that is a good thing.   
• Preparation is key to success. And a bit of support from your mum.

I did the walk of shame back across the track to find my hat and shoes with the other parents (including the one I’m married to) rolling about laughing at my sudden appearance in the race. However, I was soon called back to the finishing line where DALC1 was in a bit of a flap struggling to catch her breath.

I gave her a hug and, reflecting on our conversation in the car, whispered in her ear. ‘My darling, you were f***ing awesome.’

*Some facts and identities have been altered in the above article