Run, Baby, Run

I've always had this fantasy that I was really good at running. I often dream that I'm jogging the sidewalks of my neighborhood and it's effortless, exhilarating even. I would enviously watch runners in the park and think "It looks so easy". The problem with making this aspiration a reality is that I kind of totally hate exercise. And I feel like a Cathy cartoon just writing that. AACK!

So when my friend Heather and I started talking (as we so often do) about bettering ourselves, specifically our bodies and overall health, we realized that we both had the same aspiration of jogging glory as well as a shared distaste for the process of getting there. We made a pact of sorts; Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings, rain or shine, we would meet up and jog for about half an hour. To be more clear, we would walk, talk, walk, talk, walk, jog, walk, talk, walk, walk, talk, jog, and repeat.

At first I thought I'd better not post about my new endeavor, as so many of my exercise dreams are usually brought to a crashing halt the first time I wake up, hop out of bed, and collapse in muscle pulled agony on the floor. But then I realized that if I told the whole Internet what I was doing, I would kind of have to keep with it. Which is the same reason Heather and I decided to run together: if no one was waiting for us, we'd just as soon stay in bed.

Four mornings. That is the number of times I have hoisted my sleepy head out of bed and pulled on my sad excuse for running clothes. Does a sporty nursing bra count as a 'sports' bra? Are yoga pants that were generally considered pajama wear acceptable? Did I mention that my running shoes are hand-me-downs from my sister Laura? I guess it really doesn't matter, as it's all getting the job done. We jog a little longer, a little farther, each time. I still would rather stay in bed, but every time, as I'm jogging the final block to our apartment, I get a little of that feeling I have from my dreams: exhilaration. Who knew that was even possible?