I keep having this recurring dream. It always starts the same way. First I wake up. Yes, I’m still dreaming. Sometimes I sleep in my dreams. Sometimes I dream while I’m sleeping in my dreams. Sometimes I even dream while I’m sleeping while I’m dreaming in my sleep. I’m complicated like that. Deal with it. But try to stay on subject will ya? So I wake up. I put on my running shoes. And I take off. Somehow I’m already dressed in running attire so I’m not a complete weirdo running down the street in a pink nightgown. I don’t know why. I never sleep in running attire. Sports bras are way too confining for proper napping. I even have my hair neatly tucked up into a pony tail. And I run forever. Hours and hours. I have limitless running energy and I feel amazing. Then I wake up in real life. And I think, wow I should really go for a run. Wait, I’m still tired. Never mind.
But the dream just kept being a persistent pain in my ass, so I thought maybe I should, just for argument’s sake, try to make up with my treadmill. Sure, I would have to be nice and pretend to like the old cow and lie about how nice she looked in the mornings, but what are a few white lies among old friends? I started out slow. No I mean like actually slow. A rock could run laps around me right now. But I was aiming for distance not speed. I’ve discovered through trial and error during previous training sessions, the first mistake you can make when training for long distance running is to take off full speed ahead. You have to focus on breathing and pace first. Breathing especially, since I have asthma. Speed comes later.
I was pleasantly surprised that I could still manage a full mile on my first attempt. Not bad after a 3 year hiatus. Of course, I still had to use the precautionary inhaler. And my right knee wasn’t speaking to me afterwards, but my right knee hates me the majority of the time anyway. So I stuck with the mile for about a week, and eventually my knee forgave me.
Then I upped the ante and started adding distance. My knee tried to move out a few times over the next week and a half. We’re still on shaky ground but no divorce papers have been filed as of yet and I’m taking that as a good sign.
Because God has a sense of humor, I’ve gained a whole three pounds since I started but I’ve lost inches. Stupid muscles weighing more than fat rule. I’m positive a guy designed that one. Women know better than to make an exercising rule that makes you gain weight in the beginning.
My son has decided that he needs to work out with me. He demanded that I wake him up early every morning so that he can lift weights or use the stationary bike while I run. And being a good mommy I have honored his request. So far his workouts have consisted of watching movies and napping on the couch with the dog. Little feller is a hardcore fitness nut, I mean to ya. I think he mostly just wants to watch me sweat and tell myself ‘just one more quarter mile, just one more quarter mile.’ Which is a total lie. Because there’s always another quarter mile. My brain knows that. My knee just isn’t smart enough to figure out I’m lying.
Lady hates this whole running thing. She’s convinced I’ve lost my mind and snubs her nose at the treadmill. And after everyone goes to sleep at night, she sneaks into the den and craps right beside it. On purpose. Yes, she’s potty trained. Yes, we let her out before we go to bed. Yes, she knows better. Yes, she laughs like the wicked witch afterwards and smiles as she walks away thinking ‘let’s see how much she likes the stupid running toy now.’ And in the morning, after I clean up the gift she left me and run despite her best sabotaging efforts, she huffs and whines and finally gives up and crawls up on the couch with the manchild to pout and plot her next sabotage attempt.
It’s only been a few weeks, but I’m slowly starting to remember why I love running. It’s kind of addictive. You have more energy after a run. Your joints feel better. Your muscles feel better. Your head is clearer. And yeah, sometimes my right knee tries to fall off and maybe my asthma kicks in a little too much every so often and I almost die, but in the end it’s worth it. I could do without the dog poop every morning. But the rest? Totally worth it.
Swimming in Life's Fish Bowl 