Rings on Her Fingers and Wings on Her Feet

Ryanne invited me to watch her track practice today, and of course I wouldn't miss it. I've been watching her run since she first learned how to walk. It is mesmerizing. She runs like a dancer, only really fast. Like she has wings on her feet.
All the more fascinating for me since I have no natural athletic ability. I don't run like a girl, I run like a duck. I never cared much about watching others do sports either except for gymnastics. I can see how that is worth the effort, but for the most part, watching competitions makes me scrunch up my face in confusion.
No. There is no way of explaining why hitting, throwing, or chasing after a ball is exciting. As for tests of speed or agility, I get brain cramps from wondering why anyone would want to. Although nothing is more thrilling than a great leap in ballet, for some reason that is not considered a sport.
When Ryanne was a toddler, I used to take her to the mall in the morning, run a few yards ahead of her, turn around, scrunch down and encourage her to run to me. I suppose early morning shoppers and shop keepers were amused and probably envious that they couldn't play too. In nice weather we would walk on the trails behind my house or go to the park, running until her legs were so tired that I always had to carry her home.
But something happened when she was four. We were at the park. A dad was there with a stop watch timing his nine year old son as he ran across the field. The dad encouraged Ryanne to run also, which she did, and left the boy in the dust. Well, there's no dust in Bellingham, so she left him in the cloud of moss. She was halfway across the field before the nine year old made it three yards.
Ever since then I have watched in amazement when she runs. I don't know how she does it, but I never get tired of watching.
Nancy Sherer