Yesterday, I went running. I had been realizing for quite some time, that I am not the svelte, thin, non-jiggly woman I once was. My body hurts all the time anyway, from too much ballet and too many births, so I figured, maybe I should be sore for a reason. You know? Like from working out.
I convinced Mike to go with me, and part of the reason was for him. He had gone twice with Cora this week and I didn't want him to ruin his streak. So, despite the fact that it was a mere 94 degrees, I strapped on my sports bra and tennies and off we went!
It was so great. I could literally FEEL the fat melting off me. I totally found my rhythm and I could sense that I was getting stronger. Runners say you just have to hit your stride and there I was! The way there was pretty tough, but by the time we turned around, I was really pounding the pavement and my heart was singing its new health song. I could even envision the future:
Me, in nothing but a sports top and short shorts. I'd be tan and toned and even the eighteen year olds would look at me with envy! Mike would be fit and buff, and we'd be the motivation of middle aged frumps everywhere! We'd be ADDICTED to this running stuff, like all those other ADDICTED runners we know!
No, really. It sucked. I never want to do it again. My shins were splintering into a thousand pieces, my face was egg plant colored, I had sweat running down the twins, my toes felt like they'd been hit repeatedly with a hammer, and I had an instant migraine the likes of which I'd never had since New Years Eve 1999 when I was pregnant with Cora and thought I was going to die from the disco lights in my head.
Those feelings cannot possibly be good for my health and I quit.
If you ever see me running again, it is because someone is chasing me with a bloody cleaver and you should intervene.
your chubby friend,