Holy jet-lag, Batman. This family is draggin’! Ah well, it was totally worth it.
In other news, Olivia made this sweet surprise for me, and it’s not even my birthday:
We recently moved to a small island outside of Seattle because of the community, the great schools and our closer proximity to family. Growing up, as I sure many of you experienced, spending the day outside – adult-free – was a way of life and a huge part of what I remember fondly from my childhood.
This experience is all but extinct for the children of our generation and John and I are so grateful that Olivia has the chance to enjoy it. We don’t take for granted how rare it is that she can run around without us watching her every move. We even have a dinner bell to call her in!
Speaking of running around, you may recall from this post that today was the day to start my marathon training. I’m not going to lie to you: by the end of the day, I was feeling totally exhausted and the furthest thing from my mind was to put on my running shoes and start training.
But if I’m going to call myself a recovering procrastinator, I’d better be willing to put my money where my mouth is.
So, I ran.
This is how a recovering procrastinator gets ready to work-out:
Spend the day convincing myself that none of my excuses are valid. Search for running pants. Get dressed. Check email. Spend 20 minutes searching for stopwatch. Decide that there is NO WAY I’m running if I can’t find my watch. Talk myself out of talking myself out of running. Decide to carry phone instead. Do one more cursory sweep for stopwatch. Check email. Walk out front door. Decide on different socks. Go back inside. Check email one last time. Go back outside. Forget to drink water. Go back inside for a little sip. Convince myself I am READY. See a neighbor. Chat for 5 minutes. Help her find her lost dog. Walk to end of street. Check the time. Wait for an even number (it’s never good to start running on an odd number). Ready. Set. GO.
I had a 3 mile run on the schedule. It took me 38 minutes. That is over 12 minutes per mile.
Am I slow? YES.
Do I care? NO.
All I care about is putting one foot in front of the other and having enough respect for myself to follow through with what I’ve set out to do.
Much like the George-Jetson time machine, I can only dream of the day that someone figures out a way for us to just dial in our exercise and get fit without lifting a finger.
Until then, I am the only one responsible for my health. I have to do the work and shed the sweat, the tears, and (sometimes) the blood.
Is it hard? YES.
Will that stop me? NO.
Besides, I found out that today is National Running Day and so it would have been even MORE lame if I hadn’t started my training. It was like a sign or something.
And I really have no room to complain when I get to run in areas like this:
To celebrate getting through Day One (ok, maybe I was the only one celebrating that small victory), we went out to dinner with Hannibal Lector. They didn’t have any Chianti, though.
Do you love or hate exercise? I’d love to hear from you!