Wednesday, April 11, 2012
I feel like a pirate. Like for real. Not taking into account a patch, I undoubtedly have not one but two peg legs. At least it feels like it, anyway. Why you say? Hubby. Hubby kidnapped me and made me go on a run last night. He said I wouldn't get any dinner if I didn't go and that I'd have to sleep with Diezel in the laundry room.
I went voluntarily. But only because Hubby has been persistently pestering me about it for quite some time. I also want to be supportive of him staying in shape and keeping active so he is able to pass his PT with flying colors. So, I found myself running. Out in the Florida sun at about 5:00 p.m., so when the sun was still completely out. It. was. HOT. I could feel the heat radiating off of the road's black pavement. You know when you open up an oven and the whoosh of heat hits you square in the face? Now imagine that feeling across your entire body as you make your way to the end of a block and across the street. Very unpleasant!
Now, if you've ever seen a body shot of me, I'm not the most in shape gal out there. I really enjoy exercising, but only in a few forms:
1. Jillian Michaels kicking my butt via workout DVDs.
2. Swimming - I was a fish in my other life.
3. Zumba-esque classes.
Sometimes I'll get on an elliptical and go to town (we're talking 1 and 1/2 to 2 hours here), but I absolutely loathe running. My body just doesn't handle it well. Way back in the day I made myself join track for the "experience" and ended up despising myself afterwards. My philosophy on running is this: I will run if I need to...like to escape a certain unpleasant circumstance or danger, but aside from the rare freak chances of finding myself smack dab in the middle of a situation requiring me to beeline it out of there, running really goes hand in hand with feeling like death. You can't breathe. Your feet feel like they are on fire (although when I'm dead, I sure hope I don't find myself in a fiery inferno!). Your butt cheek muscles cramp up. Your calves burn. It's just a very unpleasant activity.
But, Hubby claims I will "get used to it." .... Wait... that would require me to go running regularly. Did I really just sign up for this? Sure, I'm all sorts of gung ho about being supportive, but did I seriously agree to go running with Hubby regularly?? Yep, you betcha I did.
We went about 2 miles yesterday...I stopped and
power walked for half a block about 2 times...Hubby was an absolute gem on the home stretch back - I'd never seen that side of him before. Perhaps it was due to all of the endorphins being released into his body or maybe he felt accomplished because he didn't stop once. Whatever it was, I would gladly go running every day to promote this kind, encouraging, supportive, coach-like side of Hubby to break through.
When I finally reached the driveway pavement, I followed through with running until we hit the front step. Then I was a gonner. Done. Completely done. As in stick a freaking fork in me and call me done. I was miserable. I staggered my way into to house, wobbled over to the thermostat and turned down the AC. Next stop was the fridge for some water...I weaved my way there the best I could with my Jello legs, turning on every ceiling fan on the way.
Guess who was encouraging me this entire time? It's kind of interesting how the roles have reversed...I mean, I am the cheerleader. It's always been who I am - I am an encourager. And now, here was Hubby telling me that I had done such a good job and encouraging me throughout the run.
You'd expect that I would be completely unbearable once I was home and showered and the soreness was beginning to set in. But I wasn't. Hubby wasn't. We were getting along! The majority of the days, we don't even get along once he gets home from work, let alone when we are both exhausted. But we did. And we were both happy. Kind of interesting, is it not? So, rather than running myself thin, or running to improve my health (although those are both great perks of running, mind you) - I'm going to take on running to improve my relationship. Love is sacrifice. Love is compromise. Love is doing something that you don't want to do for the betterment of your partner. Love is
P.S.: I'm tracking how many miles Hubby and I log throughout our running rendezvous with a widget over in my sidebar...feel free to follow us or join in!