Last night Marz ran in her first meet of the year.
She has some speed, good form, and most of all: she is coachable.
She likes it when I come with her to the track after practice to help her out with hurdles. About a hundred years ago, I was a hurdler. I like it that she wants my help.
And when I say "help," what I really mean is I watch her do her thing, encourage her to do what I know she can already do and throw in some pointers here and there.
In no way does the word "help" mean that I do the hurdles. Anymore.
As it turns out, I can't jump over a hurdle without peeing my pants.
Hey, it's been a hundred years. What did you expect?