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After a few weeks of wins for Phoebe’s football team, they took part in a tournament this afternoon and lost all three of their short matches. They were a little bit unlucky, but it didn’t quite gel, but Phoebe was brave and tackled brilliantly and was the best player on our side. In the final game the ref gave a penalty and a free kick against her, though I think she got the ball both times. Sadly both free kicks resulted in a goal. I knew Phoebe would take that hard and there were some tears of frustration. She got a medal for participating, but she knew it had no value. I tried to argue that it could be symbolic for her and that whilst it represented a low point, she could look at it and strive to do better. But she wasn’t ready for that argument. When I told her I was proud of her (which I always am, but especially today as she battled through the disappointment and unfair decisions) she exploded at me - “Proud of me for losing three matches? You’re proud that we lost.” I tried to explain that I meant I was proud of her performance, but she wasn’t having it and shouted and cried at me some more, because I apparently loved the fact that she’d lost. It hurt a little bit that she was determined to misunderstand, but I knew I was being a sounding board for her - she knew she was safe to take out her disappointment and frustrations on me and I am glad she has that. I may not be there greatest dad in the world (though I may be) but she is secure and my love will expand to accommodate any explosion.
Meanwhile York City were trying to snatch danger from safety, finally looking like they’d got the win that would ensure their National League status, but they conceded in extra time. They’re basically safe with a draw, but if Torquay can beat Wrexham 7-0 and York lose 7-0 to Notts County then they are going down. So it’s all down to the last match of the season. With the top two positions sorted who knows how those teams will play out the last game?
I did my first Park Run for a good long while this morning. I’ve either been too ill or been taking Phoebe to football, but could make it work today and was pleased to see that I can still run 5km, albeit 5 and a half minutes off my Park Run PB. I felt like I was running with some fluidity, but about 3km in I went past an old fella, who whilst in good shape for a man in his (probable) seventies, was moving with short strides and slowly to my eyes. Yet he was in front of me. Maybe I wasn’t going as fast as I felt I was. I passed him but he caught up with me at 4km which spurred me on a bit. I was just trying to get round this time, but I have my pride! As I went up the final hill a man sprinted past me, looking round, all pleased with himself. I suspect he was having the same crisis of confidence as I’d had. Maybe he recognised me and thought he was the big man for beating the guy off of Never Mind The Fullstops. Joke’s on you mate. I can do it in under 25 minutes (when I am 10kg lighter and have been training all year).
