Sports Day Special; winning the mum’s race
10 July, 2013
I won, I won,” I shouted at Asha. “Did you see me?”
Asha looked a bit confused. “I didn’t see you.”
“I was too fast, too fast for you to see.” I shouted, ecstatic.
“I saw you.” “Me too.” Chirped some happy little faces around him Asha beamed with pride. I’d done it, perhaps against the odds and I’d done it for him. He’d won his race and I’d won mine. Winners, yeah, I liked the sound of that and so did he.
I didn’t follow a rigorous training scheme but I did up my ambles to Costa in the last few days up to the big race. I also started having my coffee as a takeaway, which cut out the lengthy pit stop reading the papers. My diet remained the same (a bit more than I need), but psychologically is where I put in the hours. Yep, in my mind, convincing myself. It’s common technique used in sports training, visualization and motivation. I simply saw myself running up to Asha telling him I’d won, over and over again in my mind. I felt how great it felt, I saw his face and his utter joy. I was determined to make this dream come true. And I did.
Sami high-fived me when Asha told him. He was surprised (that boy underestimates me). Asha described the race, how I’d beaten Frankie’s mum and led from the front all the way.
“That’s amazing Mummy.” Sami said, with genuine amazement. He’s totally athletic, something we don’t often have in common, so it was good for him to know I can do it – when I want.
Asha and I raced home across the meadow, me pulling him back with his t-shirt so that I won again. When Amba got home, Asha could barely contain his joy.
“She won the mum’s race, Amba.” He shouted as he ran into the garden to get his bike. (He’d progressed to triathlon).
“What?” You won?” She said with (I have to say) a slightly sneery intonation.
“Did you even enter the mum’s race?” She asked, looking down her nose at me. “I don’t believe you won it.” She continued with jaw-dropping disrespect. “Did you really enter the mum’s race?”
Silence. I’d had enough of this.
She continued her cross examination, studying me intently.
Mrs Vaudrey, I put it to you, that on the day in question, not only did you not win the mums’ race, but that you knowingly did not even enter said race. (Gasps from around the court room).
“You didn’t enter it did you?” She said firmly.
I tried my hardest not to crack under the pressure, but the thing is with these barrister types, they get you all confused and then you blurt out the wrong thing.
“No.” I muttered.
“So, you went up to him after the race and told him you’d won. And he believed you, right?”
Me; “Er, yes, s’pose it was a bit like that. But you make it sound like I did something wrong?“
“You’re not allowed to lie and cheat at races.”
Amba: “No! You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Me: “Oh I am. And I’ll buy you an ice cream if you keep quiet?”
Amba: “Hmmm, double scoop with toppings and sauce.”