I miss running. That is one of the most shocking statements I've ever made about myself, according to myself.
[This is a picture of me before my second race.]
I started running last August or so in an attempt to lose the last of my baby weight (or pregnancy weight?) and gain some much-needed cardiovascular stamina for dancing.
My beginning trials at running consisted of running down the block, gasping for air after 100 yards, walk, repeat for about half a mile. Then G decided it would be "fun" to run together.
Now, my husband is black-or-white guy. My version of running wasn't running to him. His version of running meant consistently pacing yourself for over a mile. Ridiculous, I know. We started waking up before the kids, lacing up our shoes, and running down our street and across to the Univ (one of the busiest streets in the city) every morning. [Our roommate was home with with the kids-don't worry.]
The words "gasping for air" didn't even cover it. First of all, it was very clear to me when G was attempting to run to my pace: he assumed this annoying, energetic bounce/walk that made me feel like a mall-walking old lady. So, I ran to his pace.
Secondly, I'm pretty sure I haven't run over a mile since I was about 19 and did my first 5K, and I was young then. G would add another block of distance on our run every other day.
Finally, the last leg of our morning jog took us by the fire department, where I've known several of the guys for years. At this point of our two-mile journey, I'm dripping sweat, heaving breaths, and more than a little red in the face. Hello, young firemen! Lovely.
G was quietly tolerant of my under-the-breath swearing (both at him and other various elements of our runs), which was better than his previous training attempts over the years.
Somewhere along the way, because I must be a bit of a masochist, I began enjoying the morning's exercise. I would run even if Gordon stayed in bed, or if I had a cold, or if it was hot out. Then, I signed up for a race.
To be fair, this race was called the Blubber Run and involved beer at the end. But it was my first endeavor of my new running career that involved putting some money where my feet were. I'll fill you in on the details of the race later, but it was fun.
Since then, winter in Minnesota forced me indoors to run the treadmills (I will not run on ice or below 30 degrees, so that's about six months of running indoors). Treadmills are not fun. Then I got pregnant. Running pregnant is not fun. Well, after a certain point, it is not fun.
So I sit dormant until the first opportunity arises after baby #3 to lace up my sneaks and put another mile behind me.
