The Mark of a Champion

My little love attended Sports Day at her school recently. This was a big event for her, not just because she is very athletic, but moreso because this is her last Sports Day in primary school.

The nerves started to kick in the week before when she took a tumble while playing and ended up with a fracture in her left arm. One of the first questions she asked after the doctor placed the cast on her arm was whether she would be able to run for Sports Day. To her relief, the doctor gave her the all-clear with a warning that she could not afford to fall on her arm again.

My little love made peace with the fact that she could no longer participate in the Tug of War or obstacle race which would have required the use of her arms and she set her mind on the flat race and House relay.

At her very first event of the day, the flat race sprint, she took off at the starting line with great speed and I had to marvel at this little one running with a cast on her arm.

She had a great lead in the race when, all of a sudden, I saw her pull up and wince in pain. She visibly slowed her pace, completed in second place and immediately fell to the ground.

I am by no means an athlete, yet I found myself at her side in record time to see what had happened. My heart broke as I saw my little love in anguish while tears streamed down her face. It was clear that she was injured, having pulled a muscle in her upper thigh. One of the dads close by was kind enough to lift her off of the track and out of the way while we waited for the medic to see her. There was my little love, lying on the ground with a cast on one arm and clutching her thigh. It was heartbreaking to witness.

After the medic had applied some athletic rub and given her something for the pain, I helped my love to sit on the bleachers underneath her House tent so that she could rest. By this time she was inconsolable. Her anguish now had nothing to do with the physical pain, rather, it was dawning on her that she might not be able to compete in the other events she had signed up for that day.

“Why is everything happening to me at the same time?” she asked between sobs.

I tried my best to console her by saying that in life we all have to go through different seasons. Sometimes, we might find ourselves in a season where we must take a step back in order for real healing to take place. Naturally, this didn’t sit too well with her as she started to insist that she would be fine in time for the House relay. I looked at her closely, concerned that I would have to step in later on in the day and dash her hopes.

And she tried! Boy, did she try! 

Within a few minutes she started hobbling around, testing the strength in her leg and figuring out what felt good and what caused more pain. Within the hour I saw her stretching and trying to jog back and forth, being careful not to cause any more strain.

Later on, just before the House relay was to start, my little love came to me and with a completely defeated look on her face said, “I’ve decided that I can’t run in the relay.” I held her close, knowing how devastated she was, and simply said, “I’m so proud of you. You’ve given yourself exactly what you need right now, even though it feels hard.”

I snapped this picture while the House relay was taking place. There she was, sitting on the sidelines, leg in pain, arm in cast, watching someone else run in her place, yet cheering them on with all her might. The moment the race ended, my little love burst into tears and began sobbing uncontrollably.

When we got home later that day, there was something I knew that I needed her to know.

“I am even more proud of you now than I would have been had you run all of your races and placed first.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Really? Why?” she asked.

“Because you honoured your pain. You recognized your needs. And you listened to your body. Eventhough it felt like you were on the sidelines and that you had nothing else to give to your House and your team, you showed up. You cheered them on. And you celebrated their win. In my eyes, you are a champion!”

Maybe we all need to hear that winning can look different depending on the season in which we find ourselves.

Sometimes our season calls for a sprint.
Sometimes our season calls for rest.
In each and every season, we are called to honour our pain, recognise our needs, and listen to our body. It doesn’t matter who else is still racing. All that counts is that you continue to show up in a way that reflects what you need and what you can do in that moment. In that season. 

Maybe then we may find that we are more proud of ourselves for tuning inward and really listening to what we need instead of running a race that only serves to hurt us. 

That’s the mark of a champion.
That’s winning.