My son ...

K hadn't raced too well on Saturday, finishing last or second to last in most of his races against kids he could normally beat. Sunday morning we'd talked and he knew that we didn't care where he finished in the overall scheme of things, as long as he tried his best - which is always the case, but sometimes he needs reminding.

The first race of the morning he came flying out of the gate, got air on the first jump and was in second at the first corner. Then the bike went sideways and he came down. Hard. Bone-crunching-hear-it-from-the-other-side-of-the-track hard. The other kids raced past him and he was left lying on the centre of the track with the medics running towards him.

BMX racing is about points. Less points is better. You get one point for first, two for second and so on down to eighth. But if you are touched, or assisted while on the track, you're disqualified.

K lay there for a bit and then sat up, shook his head and held his hand out. Stop! He talked to the medics while they stood on the sidelines but wouldn't let them touch him. By this stage the other seven kids in the race had all crossed the finish line.

In all the previous races, the kids (and the adults) who'd come off pushed their bikes across the middle of the course to the finish line and took their eight points. Not my boy.

He got back on his bike, put his head down and he raced his way round that track, by himself, like he was in the lead and it was the race of his life. It was the bravest thing I have ever seen. And every single spectator applauded and cheered as he went past.

Actually not every single spectator. I cried. And was prouder of him than I have ever been in his life.

He went to the first aid tent after his race.

And every kid who came off their bike from there onwards rode their bikes to the finish line.