Raise your hand

 I raised my hand when the kid’s team asked for volunteers. I was eager. Confident, even, despite my limited knowledge of competitive high school sports and a total lack of technical proficiency with timing devices of any kind.

What could go wrong?

I am a runner. I have volunteered at races before. I have perfected the art of safety flag waving and have mastered the three stages of a water cup hand-off: eye contact; flat-handed balance and shoulder-length levitation. The runner can take it from there. Some people think that's it; that's the job. But I know the service isn't complete until we rake the crushed cast-offs into the trash. 

 Furthermore? I know these trails like they are in my own backyard. 

So on this particular occasion, I was excited to be in the woods, standing next to my son - who is also a runner but who was injured and unable to participate in this hallowed event - even if I had NO IDEA what to do.

“Where are the cups?”

“There are no cups.”

“Wait. What's the distance?”

“Two point five miles.”

“So what do we do?”

“We literally stand here and keep the runners from going the wrong way. We are figuratively traffic cones.”

“Ah … we provide direction!”

“That does not mean coaching,” cautions my son, who has heard the lilt in my voice and knows he must dial back my enthusiasm.

He punctuates this directive by jamming his hands into his pockets, elbows locked so his shoulders crowd around his ears, and he sighs heavily.

“No helpful hints, no yelling. Try not to be too excited.” 

None of these kids know you. It will be weird. Try not to be weird. I'm not saying this to hurt your feelings but to protect you … from yourself.”

“I know that,” I said with all the know-it-all-ness motherhood bestows. “I just want to understand the route. Once they come down the hill towards us, where do they go?”

“They go down the trail to the right and into the woods on the left where they will loop around and come back this way. When they do come back, we stand facing the other way, so they run through the woods that we kept them out of the first time.”

I think I've got it: “We point them back up the hill when they emerge?”

He sensed I was overthinking.  

“Everyone should have previewed the course before the race, and there are chalk markers on the trail. Just relax and it will be fine.”

He knows better than I do that going above and beyond sometimes only means you will miss your mark completely.

He was entirely correct because when the first group of runners crested the hill and came barreling toward me, I pointed to where they needed to turn and yelled: “LEFT!!!” Which was the verbal expression of the exact opposite of where I was pointing. 

“TO YOUR OTHER RIGHT!” he hollered over my shoulder. “Don't worry, you got this ... but you can put your hand down now."