Three weeks into this running thing and I’ve missed three days this week already. And I’ve gained a pound.
This does not bode well.
In all fairness, the first day I missed was Sunday and I never run on Sundays.
The second day was Tuesday, and I had twelve children under the age of four in my care for 14 hours. Would you have gone running? And I don’t mean, in the opposite direction, screaming. By the time they all left it was getting dark. And cold. And well, Monday’s run was gut wrenching.
But I swear to you, if it hadn’t been dark and cold and tripod hadn’t been lurking, I’d have gone anyway, wrenched guts or no.
Wednesday. Yesterday. Four-thirty in the afternoon. All but one child had been picked up, and my husband was going out the door with my nine-year-old to soccer practice. The kid sidles up to me and while picking at the seams on his ball, he says, “Mom, I want you to go with me.”
“You want me to go to soccer practice?”
Oh. Okay. I grab my sneakers and set my sixteen year old on door duty to watch for the late childcare parent. I’ll run up Cascade hill while he practices.
And then it occurs to me to wonder: why does he want me to go to soccer practice with him? Is it because I’ve had class during every one of his games so far? Does he want his mother to actually see him handle the ball?
I ask; he does.
So I leave my sneakers in the van and I sit on the sidelines and I have no idea what’s going on, but I grin and give him a thumbs up when he checks to see if I’m watching.
It starts to rain, but I could still go running. Who knows, with water in the air, maybe my throat won’t Velcro itself together.
But on the way home we remember that he has cub scouts. I have just enough time to drop him off (twenty minutes late), go home and get my other kids and drop them off at their scout meetings, before I remember: it’s my twelve year old’s birthday in less then four hours. No present yet. No apple pie made (he’s a freak—but hey, I don’t like birthday cakes either). Nothing prepared.
We don’t get homework and reading done and bedsheets readjusted until 9:30.
Today is another day.
It’s also J’s birthday. And I still don’t have a pie made.
I might have to get a treadmill.