Thursday, July 18, 2013

I'd rather be alive than healthy!

Four years ago, I went a little crazy and sort of joined a health group and kind of started running and basically turned into a crazy person who ran around (literally) leaving a trail of health smoke in my wake.

It was absolutely as weird as it sounds.

If I REALLY wanted to freak you out, I'd post a before-and-after photo of myself. Luckily I had enough foresight to keep myself out of every photo anyone I knew had ever taken, beginning at age three and lasting until age 29, so nothing like that exists.

Two years ago I quit my job, left my network of friends and support and moved to the Pacific Northwest.

I then developed a network of neighborhood Mom-Friends and I had way more fun hanging out with Elle, Rawr and Shenanigans so I sort of abandoned the whole running regimen and instead spent my mornings hanging out with The League and guzzling gallons of coffee.

I hate running. HATE IT.

Unfortunately, when I was running, I felt incredibly healthy, ate healthier and basically morphed into a super-human with magical powers. Like, not only could I totally climb stairs without my knees cracking, but I could also boss my kids around for longer periods of time due to increased lung function.

It was like a HUGE win for Team Mom.

Over the last few months, I've been toying with the idea of resuming self-inflicted exercise.

Last night, as I was falling asleep, I told myself that I would get my butt in gear and go for a run.

This morning, I did it.

I pulled my running clothes out of the drawer and gave them a look of disgust. For good measure, I threw them on the floor so they knew my hatred for them was still strong.

I shrugged them on, grabbed the dog and the 6, and bolted out the front door.

Well, I stretched first (OWMOTHEREFFEROW).

Then we walked for a warm up.

And then we ran.

About six steps into the run, I had a sudden bout of clarity as to just exactly why I hated those running clothes.

The pants are spandex, and they fall down.

Some might say it's because I have no ass.

Those people would be correct.

I bought the pants small so that, when I was getting fit the first time around, I would still be able to wear them as I lost weight.

Even when those suckers were inappropriately skin-tight, they slipped down. The only plus (if you can call it that) was after a while, when I was disgustingly sweaty from running, the pants would plaster themselves to my body. Then, and ONLY THEN, would they stay in place.

Gross.

Sooooooo, y'all will be excited to hear that I was running along a levy holding the dog's leash and a water bottle in one hand while awkwardly yanking my pants up with the other as my 6 rode her bike alongside me yelling "MOMMA, I SEE YOUR ZEBRA PANTIES!"

I'm pretty sure everyone there thought that was super-sexy.

Wait for it, because it gets better.

We ran into a lady and her dog. Naturally, my 6 NEEDED to pet that other dog, and then both dogs had to sniff each other, and I had to make polite chit-chat while my drawers kept slipping. I wondered if I should say something, like, "Don't worry. My pants just want to hang out around my ankles," but I decided maybe just remaining silent was best.

The dogs sniffed good-bye, and my 6 and I set off. When we were far enough down the path and no one was near, I dropped the dog's leash and let him go (he's very well trained and would come back if I called him. Unless there was a squirrel, and then all hell breaks loose).

I kept up my trudge along the path, gasping for air and praying to God that I didn't pass out from lack of oxygen, and called the dog to keep up. He'd stopped to sniff something (probably some dead carcass of some gross animal) and came running up behind me, tongue lapping in the wind, a joyful doggy grin spread across his face.

Note to self: don't run forward while looking behind you.

I tripped over a rock, and tried to steady myself. Unfortunately, at that moment I was also trying to yank up my pants, and the dog chose that exact moment to side-swipe me and my foot got trapped in his leash.

WELL.

Let me just tell YOU something.

Ever see a cartoon where someone is spinning out of control, cartwheeling with arms and legs flailing and you laugh because they look like such a jackass, but you know it's going to hurt when they crash and burn so you sort of wince and wait for the impact?

By some miracle, I was able to catch myself before hitting the ground, but I think I bruised my chin in the process. I'm not even sure how that happened, unless I unknowingly punched myself in the face (which is entirely possible).

I managed to make it back to the house without any further incident, due to the fact that I was sweating quite a bit from my near-death experience so my pants were stuck to my waist.

Tomorrow I'm running in jeans.
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