Run like a Cheetah

Thursday, June 18

I have heard those stories of superhuman mom powers:  where some kid gets stuck underneath a car and somehow the mom finds strength to lift it to pull her kid out.  I’ve never fully embraced what that meant, or how it worked, until today. 

For Father’s Day, Gabriela Catalina wanted to learn how to ride her bike without training wheels for Ben.   I mean, it's about time.  The kid is almost 45 years old already.  We have been practicing everyday since my last final- literally, over a month.   A few days ago, she finally got it.  I actually cried when I lifted my arms from her little body and she took off, wind in her ponytail (underneath her helmet of course!), pride radiating from every inch of her being.  I felt such joy.   So, for the past few days, she has just been gaining her confidence- learning how to brake, how to stop and start by herself. 

Since she has been doing so well, Colton wanted to learn too, to also show Ben for Father’s Day.  Today we all set out on a bike ride down to the park, as has been our daily summer ritual.  However, they are repaving the path and the workers told us we could walk on it, but they just laid the asphalt so if one of the kids fell, it would burn their skin so we would be better off taking the sidewalk next to and turning on the main street ahead instead of cutting through the silent woods like we normally do.  No problem.  Gabriela Catalina led the way in the front by herself, I was helping Colton, and my friend was pulling her son in the wagon behind us. 

We went a little ways when I realized we were beginning a downward slope.  I called out to Gabriela Catalina that we were starting a downhill slope and I thought she should stop and just scootch forward until we turned off onto the path.  She yelled okay and took her feet off the pedals to slow down- she still has not mastered breaking with confidence and prefers to stop by dragging her feet on the ground. 

Instead of slowing down though, she picked up speed.  She yelled at me that she couldn’t stop.  I yelled for her to put on her brakes.  She screamed that she couldn’t and I heard the panic in her voice.  Oh God.  The hill leads straight into a main road, where cars were flying by, four lanes wide.  My heart literally stopped.  I chose the lesser of two evils and threw Colton on his bike into the grass and started sprinting towards her.  It was about 500 yards (?) to the intersection.  I’m yelling at her to put her feet on the pedals and to push back but she is paralyzed with fear- all I can hear is her screaming, “Mommy help me!  Help me!!!”  I see a man walking in front of her towards her and as I am running I scream at him to stop her, to catch her- but he had his headphones on and couldn’t hear.  So he threw his hands up in the air, smiled, and yelled, “Oops!  Sorry!” and jumped out of her way- he thought I wanted him to move. 

She was picking up speed and my heart was twisting in my chest- I’m not a sprinter, oh my God, I’m not going to be able to catch her- she was getting further and further away from me.  Every time I thought I was getting close to her she seemed to pick up speed and all I could hear was her screaming for me to help her as she got closer and closer to the traffic.  I started crying because I knew if I didn’t catch her in the next ten seconds she would get hit by four lanes of traffic.

I don’t know how it happened but something inside of me fueled and I ran faster than I ever thought possible.  About fifty yards left to the road, literally, less than three houses distance, I caught her shoulder- and the mix of her forward momentum with my suddenly stopping her sent us into a tumbling, rolling mix of Gabriela Catalina, me, and her bike on the sidewalk.  When we stopped moving she and I were hysterical.  She kept sobbing, “I didn’t think you were going to get me.  I didn’t think you were going to get me.”  And all I could say was, “But I did.  I DID get you.”  And we sat there, a tangled, sobbing hot mess, holding each other tighter than either of us have ever held anything in our lives.  For the rest of the day, I carried her everywhere, just breathing her in, because I couldn't get over what I almost lost.