I'll be the first to admit that I'm a helicopter parent. That's part of the reason why both my kids still couldn't ride a bike when this spring started. Well, Ruth and I resolved to change that this year, and we've practiced bike riding with the boys many Saturday mornings this spring. Peter is still really apprehensive about riding a bike, but about a month or so ago we made a breakthrough with Michael. I was holding the back of Michael's seat as he peddled on the grass and without telling him, I decided to let go. About 10 seconds later he was about 100 feet away from me and essentially knew how to ride a bike.
Today, Michael graduated to biking on a paved path. We took him to the Middlesex Greenway - a 3.5 file mile paved path which essentially looks like this ...
While Michael biked, I figured I'd try to keep up with him on foot. I haven't biked regularly since I was teen, and the only adult-size bike we own is some random bike Ruth picked-up on sale many years ago, which is currently sitting in our basement covered in drywall dust from our basement renovations.
I use a treadmill regularly, so I'm no stranger no running, For the first 2 miles I did a decent job keeping up with him, especial because he was still a little bit tentative and wasn't pedaling that fast. However, near the end of those two miles, he was starting to gain confidence; I had to practically sprint to keep up with him, and as we reached the 2-mile marker, I was feeling pretty gassed.
I chugged some Gatorade and told Michael it was best if we started to head back ( Ruth and Peter were not even going to try and keep up with us, and had headed back to the start of the path a long time ago ). On the way back, Michael was pedaling even faster, and I found myself pushing myself even harder to sprint because my helicopter-parent instincts were refusing to allow myself to let Michael get out of my sight. However, it soon became clear that I wasn't going to be able to keep up. My knees were aching, my heart was racing, and my lungs were burning. Add on the fact that I'd tweaked my lower-back a few weeks ago, had pulled a hamstring the previous weekend, and had experienced a painful night cramp in my left calf the night before, it soon became clear that my 45-year-old body was breaking down and couldn't be pushed any more.
But as I walked and panted and watched Michael fade away into the distance, it occurred to me that this was all a lot bigger than a middle-aged dad not being able to keep up with his son. As much I love him and always want to be there to care for him and protect him, Michael in the midst of turning into a young man who won't need his Dad all the time. I had asked Michael to stop and wait for me when he passed certain landmarks on the way back, but I saw Michael go right by one of those landmarks before he pulled out of my sight. For a brief moment, I was upset about this, but then I realized that Michael is growing child who needs to test his limits. He needs to go as fast as he can go and I can't be the one who holds him back. My baby's growing up, and I couldn't be prouder.
Rich
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