I spent many hours this afternoon at what may have been the longest track meet since the 1904 Olympics. My son did turn in a best time, so there were highlights to the day. But mostly I agreed with my younger son who noted that he was hungry, and tired of sitting, and “Why can’t we go home?”

As I was whiling away the interminable time while the officials organized the gaggle of kids into lanes and started another heat, it occurred to me that:

– In the fall, I watch the kids play volleyball… and I miss being out on the court.

– In the winter, I watch them swim… and I long for the cool rhythm of the water.

– In the spring, I watch track… and I’m good. Bored, but good.