I have not run for a month. So why in the hell did I figure now would be a good time to start running again? Now, when it is 30+ degrees until 2am? Could be the extra 5lbs gained since my Grampa’s funeral. Mix comfort food with birthday parties with a few too many Caesars this month and I’m lucky it’s not 10lbs. So, that’s 15lbs more than my pre-children weight. And summer is here. Which means lake time. Which means swimsuit time.
It’s not the fear of God so much as the fear of cellulite and muffin tops that has me ready to run again.
And get this. Run again- in the morning! Before the children wake up! Because that is the only time it is cool enough to venture out. Plus it’s too hot for capri’s so skimpy running shorts should only be worn before other humans, the sane ones, arise to begin their day.
Now, please understand that I have not set my alarm in oh, 4 years. So if it must be done, it needs to be done in style. A crazy robot ninja alarm should do the trick.
I wake up laughing. Which is a good start.
Bal wakes up flailing out of bed, groggily ready to defend my honour by grabbing his sac and drooling, then muttering WTF as he grapples his phone and peers through sleepy eyes for ninja robots. You see, I failed to mention I was setting my alarm. This act is so shocking to him, I can see his brain processing my midlife crisis and potential for committing me to the loony bin. Or he just grunts, rolls over and goes back to sleep.
Either way, I bound up out of bed, get changed and head out the door. I call for Riley and she very begrudgingly gets up off her bed and saunters down the stairs towards me. I thought she would be excited. Instead, she looks alarmingly like Bal (though she has no sac) with a glare that speaks to me. “Woman, I have 2 more hours of sleep, 30 minutes of eating the babies droppings, followed by 6 more hours of sleep before being ready to run. You’re crazy.”
I don’t doubt it but I make her come with me anyways. Better for her to startle any breakfast-seeking animals than me, right? Only the damn dog protests the entire run. She stays behind me. So I can be breakfast and she can go home. I look back at one point and she’s laid down. I keep running. She does not. I lose her. Then curse her. Then worry that maybe she did become breakfast. Then see her stroll out of the bushes yawning. Then curse her some more.
We continue running. The first 20 minutes are easy. I am pumped up and ready to set my alarm EVERY morning for such a peaceful, cool run. But then the real Kari starts perking up. Her commentary goes something like this:
You need to get home now. This is insanity. You need your sleep. Sleep when your kids sleep psycho. You can not run without any food in you. Or coffee. Especially coffee. That ache in your gut? That is because you haven’t pooped woman. Pulled pork and ice cream just trudging along in there. Feels good eh? Go home!
That Kari makes a convincing case.
But so do the look of my thighs in swimwear.
Lose, lose. I guess I have to choose the lesser of two evils. They are pretty equal in their horror but the thought of scaring the bejeezes out of Bal again and that first 20 minutes of blissful running is enough to have me try again tomorrow.
Alarm is set. Thank goodness for Robot Ninjas…