On Saturday, after doing yard work, talking to neighbors, vacuuming the minivan, folding clothes and setting the kids up for a picnic on the lawn, I decide to go for a run.
I laced up my Brooks running sneakers that I had bought so many years ago, left the kids playing in the front yard with my husband nearby, and took off down the street.
“Five minutes“, I told myself, knowing that I really should do that Couch to 5K plan which starts off nice and easy. But, I get dizzy trying to keep track of my time in such short bursts of run/walk, so it’s easier for me to do it my way.
Down the street and I was panting. Running sooooo slllllooooowwwwlllly, it seemed funny to be breathing hard, but I knew I just had to get past that wall and my breathing would calm down a bit.
Five minutes! Wow, that went fast.
How does everything feel?
Some of you may remember why I stopped running. I ran after I had Jilly, my second, but I got pregnant so soon afterward with our son, D, that I didn’t have a chance to run a lot. And then part of my insides decided to fall out, and that put an end to me running.
Forever, I thought.
Ten minutes. Wave to neighbors who yell “Keep going! Keep going!”
I keep going.
At 15 minutes, I’m on a long street thinking about how many time I ran this street before. I’ve run it when I was pregnant with Belly, and then pushing Belly in her Baby Jogger. I’ve run it in 80 degree heat with Jilly in my belly. I even pushed both girls in the Double Jogger a few times before.
That was, what, six years ago? Seven?
I am so slow a child on a bicycle could whiz by me in a blur. My feet are coming up and down, just a few inches to minimize the jolting on my body (hey, how’s everything doing in there?).
And then, as I close in on 20 minutes and my street appears in sight, I realize I love doing this. I don’t want to run a marathon, a half or even a 10k. I just want to go out on a lovely day, a rainy day, a snowy day, and put one foot in front of the other on the hard concrete and feel my asthmatic lungs fill with air.
Some may derisively call what I’m doing “jogging”, but no sirree, I’m running.
Running!
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