Ice cream and relish don't mix

Multitasking is my way of life. My dad likes to call it 'bundling'.

Recently a friend invited me to a local mom's group. Ever determined to get the most out of my time I decided to drop by on the way home from my run. That way I could exercise, spend quality time with my daughter, soak up some sunny vitamin D, and meet a new friend to two.

But like ice cream and relish, somethings don't mix well.

Approaching the back yard play date I could feel the sweat starting to run down my face. Writing this makes me wonder why a little red flag didn't pop up in my head. "Warning! Warning! You are smelly and sweaty and gross!" Must have been a cranial malefaction. Perhaps running endorphins shut off reasonable cognitive processes.

I had imagined the group full of happy young mothers eager and excited to make a new acquaintance. Instead everyone seem slightly . . . hesitant. After a few uncomfortable moments of forcing pleasantries I headed home.

Before hopping in the shower I casually looked in the mirror. "Oh" I thought, as I saw my reflection. Oily, stringy hair was falling out of a sagging pony tail. The remains of yesterday's make-up mixed with sweat had made black smear marks underneath my eyes. My randomly selected shirt and short combo clashed against my mismatched socks. Naturally I had left my wedding ring at home. Overall I looked very much like wandering hobo except instead of a grocery cart I had a jogging stroller.

I couldn't help but smile. And then laugh at the thought that crossed my mind. At least I have all my teeth!

Running is hard

Saturday was a long run. Long as in18 miles long.
Long runs are inherently hard. They take incredible amounts of time, planning, mental toughness, and obviously physical endurance.
However, somehow about knowing a long run is hard, makes it easier.
For example I don't give myself grief when I'm dying at mile 17 because, heck, its mile 17!

Today was a short 'easy' run. Easy being a very relative word to my sore, stiff, tired, tight muscles.

Three milers are killer. I think I'll stick with 18ers.

First post

Some days I can't wait to head out the door and let my feet hit the pavement. But even with my slightly unrealistically optimistic attitude those days are still far and few between.

What does that even mean, "far and few between?"

Anyways...

As the clock approached nap time for baby, my internal clock was pointing me towards my own bed. Despite the welcoming, beckoning, wonderful call of sleep I managed to mind-over-body myself out of the house.

After attempting a new route with the jogger (not very successful{silly tree roots bumpifying the sidewalk, and cars driving way too fast on the road}) I resorted to my usual loop. The steady pounding of my feet felt good. My pace is less than fast, but something about the consistency sounded strong. Feeling strong makes me smile.

Writing about the run paints a funny picture in my mind: fatigued woman, drenched with sweat, trudging up a hill with a jogging stroller, smiling to herself.

Makes me sound delusional. Or inspirational. Or delusional.