I was never an athlete. Never. I was a clumsy and uncoordinated child and teenager. I fell off the climbing rope during the fitness test in elementary school and hit the ground—without even moving up the rope, just from holding on. I sprained ankles, tore ligaments, and broke toes. I fell so hard going up a flight of stairs that I fell the rest of the way back down, leaving me bruised and in pain for weeks. I ran track for one season and warmed the bench for soccer except when I fell off it or was getting my hand stepped on by cleats (that hurts, by the way).
I was never an athlete. Now, I run for exercise and stress or anxiety relief and people will say to me, “So you’re a runner?” I reply, “I’m not a runner, I just run, I run slow.” No matter, I was never an athlete, but I do enjoy being active, and as a mom of three boys, I worked hard throughout the younger years to get them outside and active as much as possible, basically to tire them out. We took countless trips to every park in town and surrounding towns, and when we bought our first home and had a yard for the first time, we were outside all the time.
I was never an athlete, but suddenly, they aren’t the same little boys who once climbed trees, used their scooters, and played in the sandbox. Now I am raising athletes. Suddenly, I am yelling and cheering at track meets and basketball games. The memory on my phone is full from recording matches at karate tournaments and stripe and belt promotions. I record high jump at track meets so we can look back and check out my son’s form and what he can do differently. I was gifted a tripod during the basketball season to livestream games.
When playoffs for the last year of youth basketball came around this season, I walked around with a lump in my throat and my mind spinning. I was so anxious and consumed, I dreamt about the game the night before and it did not have a good outcome. I was so anxious I had to take myself out for a run hours before the game to use that energy productively and get some relief. Thankfully my dream did not come true and they went on to win the whole thing.
I was never an athlete. My mama heart holds entirely too much empathy for my five-foot frame. I have no idea how my kids aren’t nervous because I’m a wreck. Whether they are about to spar, step onto the court, or are warming up for high jump or another track and field event, my mind races with excitement and pride.
I love them so much my heart is bursting, sometimes through my eyeballs. I pray Lord, please protect them. I cover my eyes when an elbow hits my son’s face at basketball. I’m sad with my son and for him when he doesn’t jump as high or run as fast as he would have liked. When their hearts break, mine does too.
But in their sadness and disappointments are life lessons. These lessons are hard but important in their development. Their wins and losses are helping them develop character, sportsmanship, compassion, and empathy. Just like I feel their losses, I celebrate their victories with them. I shout and cheer at the top of my lungs. I forget about the sweat saturating their clothes and grab them for congratulatory hugs.
My son tells me thanks for coming, and I laugh. “I wouldn’t miss it,” I say in reply. He smiles and says, “I know.” This feels like a victory, a crowning jewel, a heavenly treasure—that although I fall short in countless ways every day, my boys know they are loved. And truly, I wouldn’t miss it.
I was never an athlete, but nothing could keep me away . . . nothing. Sometimes I can’t make it. Sometimes as parents, we have to divide and conquer to get to events happening simultaneously, but I’m there 99 percent of the time and there’s no place I’d rather be.
Some parents may be out there reliving their glory days, but as for me, I was never an athlete—but I am a spectator, photographer, videographer, and my kids’ biggest fan.
by Gina Marie Bonifas 
by Mandy McCarty Harris 
