I hate running.
Even if I was being chased by zombies, I would give it a try and then succumb with a justification that being eaten alive can't possibly be any worse than the cramp in my side and the burning in my lungs.
I've got a set of P90X DVDs sitting on a shelf, gathering dust. Who has an hour and a half to do yoga? Who wants to do cardio or pull ups with a guy who reminds me of a buff Michael Scott?
Long story short, I'm not an exercise person.
As a result, I'm in horrible shape. That zombie scenario? I would last maybe ten seconds at a full sprint. That's factoring in adrenaline and the fight or flight mentality.
I've since gotten tired of being tired and flabby and unable to survive the first fifteen seconds of a zombie apocalypse. I've decided to force myself to be fit.
I signed up to run a 5K.
I'm stupid and smart.
Stupid because I signed up for a 5K and smart because it cost money to register so I HAVE to actually do it. Since then, I've started running. It's not pretty.
It's really not, but I keep going when I can. I've run a full mile without stopping and I've run for 13 minutes straight without stopping. That's not impressive but it's a start.
I get body envy of all the super fit moms I see on Facebook and pinterest. The ones that have multiple kids and multiple abs and cute little butts. It makes me sad to see my love handles and saddle bags and pooch. It kills me when another pair of jeans has been relegated to the "not gonna happen" pile.
So what do you do when you want something? You make it happen. I've cut out pop (as of yesterday because I got a Dr. Pepper as a treat for surviving Walmart) and I'm trying to go running every day. It's hard when I have two kids at home during the day and only a single stroller. I've tried putting Boy child on his tricycle and Smaller girl child in the stroller, but boy couldn't keep up and kept trying to ride in the street.
So I started running at night when husband was home. We don't live in the ghetto, but it's not Pleasantville either. Each night run was accompanied by paranoia and anticipation of kidnap/murder/rape with each car that drove past. I'm still trying to find a happy medium, but the best I can come up with is running early in the morning while everyone is still sleeping.
I'm even less of a morning person than I am a runner.
Plus husband sometimes bikes to school so he leaves super early meaning I have to get up even EARLIER on those days.
But I am trying. And that's what matters, right?
Like the zombies will be all "guys, let's give her a break. I mean look how hard she's working! It can't be easy to run from a murderous horde of the undead, right? You go, human! You keep on shuffling awkwardly!"
