Marathon kids

“Is today cookery?” Barry announced loudly to the breakfast table. 

“No. Today is Tuesday.”

“Oh.”

He looked disappointed.

Then Marmaduke arrived with Marjory.

“Morning!” said Marmaduke cheerfully.

Barry looked at him.

“Do you know what we’re doing today?”

Marmaduke shrugged.

“School?”

“Obviously.”

Alfie, who was already dressed and had packed his bag the night before, wandered through the kitchen.

“You’re both in Reception. You’ll find out when you get there.”

Barry sighed.

“I don’t like surprises.”

Alfie looked at him.

“You loved your surprise chocolate chip cookies yesterday.”

“That wasn’t a surprise. There was chocolate.”

“Fair point.”

At school, the Reception children gathered on the carpet.

Mrs Abraham stood at the front with a very mysterious expression.

Barry immediately became suspicious.

“Why are you smiling?”

Mrs Abraham laughed.

“Because I have something exciting to tell you.”

Barry whispered to Marmaduke.

“It might be homework.”

Marmaduke looked horrified.

“Maybe we should run.”

Mrs Abraham clapped her hands.

“This year, Reception are going to run a marathon!”

The children stared at her.

Barry’s mouth fell open.

“A whole marathon?”

“Yes.”

“How far?”

“Nearly forty-two kilometres.”

Barry looked at Marmaduke.

Marmaduke looked at Barry.

Barry slowly raised his hand.

“Yes, Barry?”

“Can we say no?”

The class erupted in laughter.

Mrs Abraham smiled.

“No, Barry.”

“Oh.”

She explained that nobody expected four-year-olds to run forty-two kilometres in one go.

Instead, everyday the children would cover around 200 metres.

They could walk.

They could run.

They could cycle.

They might do it during Forest School, PE or topic work.

Little by little, day by day, the distance would add up.

By the end of the summer term, they would have travelled the distance of a full marathon.

Barry looked deeply unimpressed.

“So we’re doing a marathon without running a marathon?”

“Exactly.”

“That sounds like cheating.”

“No. It sounds like a very sensible way for four-year-olds to do it.”

Barry thought about that.

“I still don’t like it.”

Marmaduke whispered:

“I think it’s quite cool.”

Barry looked at him.

“Why?”

“Because we’re going to do 42 kilometres.”

“That’s far.”

“Yes.”

“Very far.”

“Yes.”

“That’s lots of walking.”

“Yes.”

Barry frowned.

“Maybe it’s not so good.”

Mrs Abraham smiled.

“Today is the first leg.”

She led them outside.

There was a little marked-out route around the school grounds.

The children lined up.

Barry looked at it.

“How far?”

“Two hundred metres.”

Barry groaned.

“That’s basically a hundred thousand.”

“It really isn’t.”

“It feels like it.”

Mrs Abraham explained that they would all go at their own pace.

Nobody had to race.

Nobody had to be the fastest.

The important thing was taking part.

Marmaduke immediately set off with a cheerful little jog.

Barry walked.

Very slowly.

So slowly, in fact, that a particularly relaxed-looking snail would probably have overtaken him.

Mrs Abraham walked alongside him.

“You don’t have to run.”

“Good.”

“You can walk.”

“Good.”

“Or you can jog.”

“No.”

“Or even do a mixture.”

Barry considered this.

“Can I lie down?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because then you wouldn’t be covering the distance.”

Barry looked at the path.

“This is very complicated.”

Meanwhile, Marmaduke was having a wonderful time.

He jogged.

Then walked.

Then jogged again.

He talked to another child.

He counted the cones.

He pretended he was an explorer crossing a desert.

He seemed to be enjoying himself.

Barry watched him.

“Marm!”

Marmaduke stopped.

“What?”

“How are you not tired?”

“I am.”

“You don’t look it.”

“I’ve got a plan.”

Barry was intrigued.

“What plan?”

Marmaduke whispered:

“Make it fun.”

Barry considered this.

“How?”

Marmaduke pointed to the next cone.

“That’s a mountain.”

Barry stared.

“That’s a cone.”

“It’s a mountain.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Pretend.”

Barry looked at the cone again.

He sighed.

“Fine.”

They jogged towards the “mountain.”

“WE’RE CLIMBING!” shouted Marmaduke.

Barry started laughing.

They reached the cone.

Marmaduke pointed to another.

“Now that’s a volcano.”

Barry grinned.

“It’s another cone.”

“It’s a volcano.”

“Okay!”

Suddenly they were explorers.

The next marker was a jungle.

The next was a castle.

Another was the moon.

Barry forgot to complain.

He was too busy trying to rescue Marmaduke from imaginary dinosaurs.

Mrs Abraham watched from behind them, smiling.

This was precisely why the marathon challenge worked.

It wasn’t really about running.

It was about building healthy habits.

Getting outside.

Moving.

Trying.

And discovering that exercise didn’t have to mean standing in a sports hall being shouted at by someone holding a stopwatch.

Although Barry remained suspicious of stopwatches.

By the time they reached the finish, Marmaduke and Barry were walking side by side.

Barry was puffing slightly.

“That was quite good.”

Marmaduke smiled.

“See?”

“But I don’t want to do it every day.”

Mrs Abraham laughed.

“You don’t have to do the same thing every day.”

“Good.”

“Tomorrow might be something different.”

“What?”

“Wait and see.”

Barry narrowed his eyes.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Very much.”

After school, Barry came bursting through the front door.

Mrs Brand was working at the kitchen table.

“How was school?”

Barry threw his bag down.

“We’re doing a marathon.”

Mrs Brand stopped typing.

“A marathon?”

“Yes.”

“For children?”

“Yes.”

“All forty-two kilometres?”

“No.”

Barry paused.

“Eventually.”

Marmaduke, who had followed him in with Marjory, nodded enthusiastically.

“We did the first 200 metres today.”

Mrs Brand smiled.

“That’s brilliant.”

Barry shrugged.

“I didn’t run.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I walked.”

“That’s still exercise.”

“I did run a little.”

Mrs Brand looked impressed.

“You did?”

“Yes.”

Marmaduke smiled.

“He did loads when we were being explorers.”

Barry nodded.

“We climbed a mountain.”

Mrs Brand looked concerned.

“What mountain?”

Marmaduke pointed towards the garden.

“That one.”

Mrs Brand looked out of the window.

There was a small traffic cone on the pavement outside.

“Oh.”

Barry nodded seriously.

“It was very dangerous.”

“It was?”

“Yes.”

Marmaduke added:

“There were volcanoes.”

“Of course there were.”

Alfie wandered in.

“What are you two talking about?”

“Marathon.”

Alfie’s face lit up.

“I loved that when I was in Reception.”

Barry looked at him.

“You did?”

“Yes. I loved watching the distance build up.”

“You watched it?”

“We had a chart.”

Alfie was clearly delighted by the memory.

“I used to work out how far we’d travelled.”

Barry stared at him.

“Why?”

“Because it was interesting.”

“You are very strange.”

“I know.”

Mrs Brand smiled.

“Alfie was very sporty in Reception.”

“I wasn’t particularly sporty,” said Alfie. “I just liked the challenge.”

Barry looked suspiciously at his brother.

“So you’re saying I’m not sporty?”

Alfie thought carefully.

“You’re… enthusiastic about certain types of activity.”

“What types?”

“Running towards food.”

Marmaduke burst out laughing.

Barry looked offended.

“I can run!”

“I know.”

“I ran today.”

“I heard.”

“I could run faster than you.”

Alfie smiled.

“Probably not.”

Barry immediately stood up.

“Race me!”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re inside.”

“Outside!”

“No.”

“Please!”

Mrs Brand intervened.

“Barry, you’ve already done your 200 metres.”

“Oh.”

He sat down.

Then looked at Marmaduke.

“We need to get better.”

Marmaduke nodded.

“We do.”

Barry looked at him.

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

Alfie smiled.

There it was.

The trick.

Marmaduke hadn’t tried to convince Barry that running was wonderful.

He hadn’t told him that exercise was good for him.

He hadn’t given him a lecture about fitness.

He’d simply made it fun.

And somehow, that had worked.

That evening, Barry announced that he needed to practise his “marathon walking.”

He walked around the kitchen.

Then the hallway.

Then the sitting room.

Then back to the kitchen.

Mrs Brand watched him.

“What are you doing?”

“Training.”

“For tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“How far have you walked?”

Barry stopped.

“Lots.”

Alfie looked at him.

“Approximately fourteen metres.”

Barry nodded.

“That’s nearly fifteen.”

Marmaduke appeared beside him.

“Keep going.”

Barry smiled.

Together they marched around the house.

They climbed imaginary mountains.

They crossed imaginary rivers.

They escaped imaginary dinosaurs.

They even passed the imaginary finish line.

By bedtime, Barry was exhausted.

He climbed into bed and pulled the duvet up.

“Mum?”

“Yes?”

“I still don’t like running.”

Mrs Brand smiled.

“That’s okay.”

“But I like the marathon.”

“Why?”

Barry thought about it.

“Because Marm makes it fun.”

Mrs Brand kissed his forehead.

“That’s a very good reason.”

Barry closed his eyes.

Then opened them again.

“Tomorrow, can we be pirates?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mrs Abraham will know.”

And that was how Barry’s marathon journey began.

Not with forty-two kilometres.

Not with a stopwatch.

Not with a personal best.

But with 200 metres, one good friend, several imaginary volcanoes and a four-year-old discovering that perhaps exercise wasn’t quite as dreadful as he’d originally suspected.

Although he still maintained that walking was much better when there were biscuits at the end.

He was four.

He had standards.