I hate running, always have, and I probably always will. But lately, I do it anyway.
For an instant I mistook my excitement as actual enjoyment for running. “I should get a running stroller,” I told myself. So I searched for one and found a STEAL. Yes, get ready to be jealous of my find… $20 for this baby. The kids love it. Me, not so much. I mean, it’s ok and all, but my daughter tries to talk to me the entire time, so I’m constantly pulling out my headphones to see what she’s saying and telling her to just sit back and enjoy the ride.
That’s when I realized the sacredness of my run had been tainted. My kids were with me. That’s not right.
I don’t run because of the health benefits, or because it feels good. I love it because it guarantees I’ll get a minimum of 30 minutes alone. So much so, that I signed up for a crazy 5K so I have a regular excuse to “train” and get out of the house.
I can’t stand sweating all over myself. But I love the quiet cold shower I get once I get home from my jog.
It’s thirty minutes of no email, work, demands, or requests. And even though it sucks so bad, and I’d rather be doing something that’s actually fun like sewing, or taking pictures… I take it. Because I am by myself.
I confess once I stopped mid-run and stood under a tree for a quarter of my jogging time while a quick rain blew by. I wasn’t worried about ruining my time, I was just happy to be alone.
I never realized there’d be a day I’d love to be alone. I’m a very social person. I thrive in social atmospheres; it’s hard to get me to shut up. But I’ve finally reached the breaking point to silence being golden.
Having kids will do that to you… Make you realize things you never knew you loved. Or in my case… Make you love things you’ve always hated.