So yesterday I decided it was high time to get back in shape. This came after one of my girlfriends from college posted on Facebook that she'd just finished running 20 miles. Not a typo. Not 2 miles. 20 miles.
Before work.
I looked at my Starbucks Frap and calculated that that was more miles than I had run in the past two years (I'm not good at math, but this didn't take long, because I haven't run any miles in 2 years).
Before the boys, I ran 4 miles a day. Not a huge accomplishment by any means, but I felt like if I wanted to say, go into a grocery store and steal all of the Hershey bars and run from the cops, I might have a good shot at getting away.
Not any more.
Now I would give up well into the chase. Probably just outside the store door. And eat all of the Hershey bars during my ride to the clinker.
This image, of chocolate on my face as I looked out a window with my hands in cuffs, was enough to make me put my jogging shoes on again.
So, after work, before I could think twice (and eat the chips staring at me on the counter) I grabbed the boys, plopped them in the stroller, and took off. And the road ahead looked very, very, long.
I made it a mile. Not in one shot mind you, in about quarter-mile increments. And people driving by looked at me like this:
"What the hell is she doing? Is she okay? Look how red her face is!"
But I pretended they looked at me like this:
"Wow. Isn't she amazing? I wish I could jog pushing two children!" And it made me jog an itty bit faster.
Today I am viciously sore, but I will try this again (maybe tomorrow, maybe I shouldn't abuse myself twice in 48 hours). A big thanks to the boys for their "wheee" giggles as we sped downhill (oh yes, forgot to mention that, a big part of my jog was downhill).
Until tomorrow ...
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