Did I quit running? I’m not sure if I did. I ran and ran for four years, and now? Meh.
It started with a Super Spartan, then Disney Princess runs and Star Wars runs – half marathons, 10ks, a couple of 5ks in there to keep me honest. But now….
I know I need something to train for. I can’t just run to run. With my impending move to a much higher altitude, I’m also intimidated. I have low blood pressure and heartbeat already – I’m afraid I’ll pass out somewhere along the road in a new town.
I can see it now, me laying on the side of a country road, slightly concussed, calling my husband.
“Come get me. I’m concussed.”
“Where are you?” He would say, already in the car.
“I don’t know.”
And woe is me if I had our cattle dog with me, his baby.
Excuses, you say? I agree. There is nothing easier than being middle-aged and lazy.
I have started to stalk online a running club in my new town, thinking it will get me running and social (I am terribly introverted and so is my husband. Peas in a pod!).
However, I have noticed that my excess chub isn’t melting away like it used to. Before I could just use the power of thought, but now, post 40, it seems things have changed. At least that’s what my pants keep saying, and boy are they vocal!
“Lunges. Remember lunges?”
“When’s the last time you did a sit up?”
“A lap around the block wouldn’t hurt ‘ya. Take the cattle dog.”
Pants are nags. Not like tops.
The tight armholes in my blouses are more like “Well, this is interesting”, and my jersey tees just talk behind my back with my bra, something about doing push-ups and maybe dips. Jersey tees are kind of passive-aggressive come to think of it.
The bra? She’s just doing her best. Definitely not an instigator.
Maybe I will. Maybe I will start running again, just to shut them up. Stupid clothes. At least my leggings and tech tees are supportive. They’ve been clamoring to get out of the drawer anyway.
Aforementioned baby.
freckled crab 