From Pillow to Pedometer in 6 Easy Steps
I texted her last night. Run – 6:30? The response came back… something about getting home late from a "business dinner" and having a "presentation" due "early" in the morning and although she "wanted" to run, she wasn't going to.
Fine. No worries. I'm a big girl. It's not like I NEED the knowledge that she's waiting at her doorstep in the pre-dawn light to pry me out of bed. I can do it all by myself. Besides, my husband is leaving town and this will give me a chance to have coffee with him and say a proper goodbye instead of dashing off while he's still in the shower. You know what this is? It's a BLESSING IN DISGUISE! (I have to shout that last part in my mind to drown out the voices telling me that I know damn well that it will be too hot to run by the time I finish "drinking coffee." (I know, the quotes, I'll stop.)
At least I didn't change the alarm setting. I still got up at 6:00. After I hit the snooze a few times, it went down like this:
"Hey, Babe, let's have coffee." And I'm talking actual coffee here. Who can run after drinking coffee? Not me, that's who! I'm not willing to pee myself in the name of fitness. For funny anecdotes, sure, but not merely for shapelier thighs.
Ooh, look! Laundry! I should totally fold that load before I leave. (Also, it's important to have certain domestic duties witnessed, to back up the occasional tirade. "I slave away ALL day for you people and where is the GRATITUDE???"
I'm not yet in my running clothes when I kiss my husband goodbye, shut the door, and notice a neat stack of bills on the desk. That looks fun! No–I'm strong–I WILL run… just as soon as I dust the bookshelves.
There is a dilemma in the closet over whether or not the black of my tank matches the black of my running skirt. And I should really get some new socks. By the way, hello sock drawer! Do you need organizing, Little Buddy?
When I stop to pee (***coffee***) I notice the ring around the toilet bowl. It's not the first time I've seen it. Since vacation, with catching up on work and unpacking and stocking the pantry and all that LAUNDRY, I haven't gotten to the bathrooms. Suddenly I crave the scent of Comet cleanser. I need a HIT of Comet in my lungs, Baby! My husband is gone, so it's not like I'm in it for the Holly Homemaker points. I actually want to clean the toilet more than I want to run. I may need help.
Dragging myself away from the scrubbing bubbles, I emerge, victorious, on my front steps. (I'm not going to burden you with the bandaid-on-my-heel detour.)
Today… I run! Those are, after all, "my" legs on the cover of Blacklisted from the PTA.
If you only knew what's pumping through my earbuds…
Image: Robert S. Donovan, Flickr
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