Monday morning, 11:30 a.m. I paced back and forth in my own house. Laundry was folded, dishes were done, the house in a rare state of clean. Even the kids were busy with “kids only” playtime, according to the toddler in charge. I looked at the time on my phone for what felt like the millionth time that morning. 11:31. Rich was still fast asleep. The night before, baby Kain had put up a protest and was wide awake from 3:30 a.m.-7:30 a.m. It was my turn to be the lucky parent, and I got to sleep. Rich chased the crazy kid around until daylight, and crashed around 8:00 a.m when I awoke to take over the parental duties.
“Pool Closed until Sunday 3/21”
I proceeded to head to Walmart, my planned trip for AFTER my swim, to pick up a few items we needed, such as milk and staples for the staple gun (never a dull moment in my house). I stomped around the store, angry that I started ANOTHER week of training off on the wrong foot, angry that the workout gods seemed out to get me, and angry that I was stomping around walmart in my over sized hoodie, neon green shorts and neon orange flip flops, looking a hot mess. Now, post workout I would have skipped through the aisles, not caring in the slightest about my frightful appearance. Laugh all you want, wal-mart shoppers, I’m training for a triathlon, I’m pretty kick butt. But two weeks without working out has left me feeling awkward, and now I was more self concious than a 7th grader with a massive zit.
I really think it’s no coincidence that I ran my first race just before having kids. As if God knew I needed this. I know I’d still be a good mom without running. I’d get the job done, no doubt about it. But those endorphins, those miles and that hour alone out there…they just make the job so much easier!