My hubs is a coach. Not just any kind of coach. He's the all in kind. He sits home crunching numbers for hours after races. He researches training techniques, injury treatment, shoe types for overpronation. He knows what overpronation means. And he loves his sport, but he loves his athletes more. He agonizes over the girl whose mom barely lets her stay for practice, knowing that she might have to quit and then do no telling what during her after school hours. He stresses over how to get the boy he knows can run minutes faster to believe it himself. He gives me motivational pre-race talks without even realizing he's doing it. He sets goals with his runners and his team--and his heart breaks when they don't achieve them. Then, he gets back up and figures out how to make sure it doesn't happen again.
We have a yearly end-of-season party at our house, affectionately dubbed "Laytonfest" by his team a few years ago. You'd think the basketball goal and trampoline (we bounced the springs off of our old one) were for our own kids, but we didn't wait until Christmas to purchase them. We did make sure they were assembled in time for Laytonfest. That's what this team is to him - his kids. And when they're wrestling with my little boys and drinking my hot chocolate, they're my kids, too.
My hubs is a coach. And I couldn't be more proud!
1 comment:
We couldn't be prouder of him either! He's making more of a difference in lives than he'll ever know, not to mention the awesome example he's setting for your sons. You did a very good thing when you married that man!
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