We’re all a bit exhausted in the WF house, for several reasons:
• At the weekend we ran a Family Marathon (where you all share the route) in 32-degree heat. Stupid, maybe, but we didn’t plan for the weather and you can’t just ditch something because it’s a bit warm.
• TheTeen had sports day a few days before, an event he loathes with a passion, waiting for his turn right at the back (and getting sunburnt legs) while fellow athletes throw sticks and jump in the sand up at the front. I gamely sat and watched (nothing) for five hours and that’s a marathon in itself.
• We’re halfway through a house move and the stairs are no longer enjoyable: carrying boxes up and down flights should be a Fitbit option with free Vue tickets handed out when a certain number is reached.
• Work is busy for us all.
• We’d like another holiday soon.
In all of this we’re possibly less fit than ever, packing in takeouts and dragging out late nights in the rush to Get Things Done. In an effort to cheer myself up during the epic spectate last week I thought back to another sports day some eight years ago, involving several mums carrying eggs and spoons at Parly Hill running track. That was a good year for the Fairies: SmallFairy won several notable ribbons and his mum carried her spoon all the way to the end faster than any other mum: that’ll never happen again, she thought at the time. And she was right.
Sports days are what they are, and even though winning is much more fun than losing, the format is always the same. Next year I’ll skip it if work’s this busy, and if I do decide to go I’m bringing a bag of snacks to see me through to the finish line.