I love that several of you read yesterday’s post and questioned whether I should continue running.
No one suggested that I turn myself in for a potential black-out killing. (A special tip of the hat to Sir, who eased my mind a bit with the whole “you can’t be convicted” comment.)
Here’s the thing. Yes. Running is difficult for me. It’s the first thing I’ve done in quite some time that REALLY challenges me both mentally and physically. (This is where I would insert a Fifty Shades of Grey joke, but I have no idea what you are talking about.) Nine months ago I couldn’t run for more than two minutes without wanting to die. (Because my leg was broken. Because I was heel striking. Because I don’t read history books, so I’m destined to make the same mistakes as Napoleon.) Now I can run for about five minutes without wanting to die, and then I can KEEP running for 21 more minutes! I’m not quitting now.
Actually, after I reach the point where running comes easy, I’m going to start Kobe Bryanting myself over moving cars.
This morning was not a good one at our house. The girls were crabby and we’re out of Aleve and the dress I’m wearing to this weekend’s wedding is NOT looking good.
Harper: Are you sick?
Me: No, but my arm is acting like it wants to be somewhere else.
Harper: Are you angry?
Me: No. Here’s the deal. I don’t like referring to myself as Mommy, but I’m about to make an exception. I’m going to say this one time only, and I’m not going to offer any sort of explanation. Are you ready?
Harper: I’m ready.
Me: Mommy needs Spanx.
Me: Grab your backpack. Let’s go.
Thirty minutes later, I found myself in a dressing room trying to sausage myself into at least 11 different styles of shape wear. (This is what you’re missing on Instagram.) It was absolutely terrible. I couldn’t even pull one of the styles up past my knees, so I challenged myself to find the size that I COULD actually pull up. XXL. I almost bought the XXL (it was black and shiny), but then it occurred to me that this isn’t how it’s supposed to work. (Side story: I currently have my running application set to believe that I weigh 380 pounds, because it feels good when my display says that I’ve worked off over 500 calories. The reality isn’t nearly as rewarding.)
I went with this. (Do NOT watch the video on that page. If you’re anything like me, it will make you want to put your fist through a wall—which is something I’ve never actually done. I definitely disagree with the woman who announces that the model has a slight muffin top. Don’t even get me started on this.)