Well, I finally did it.
After a seemingly unending season of lethargy, I made myself go running yesterday.
You might remember that I begrudgingly took up jogging last summer after discovering that my previously scrawny body was accented by some extra poundage around the waistline.
I also began noticing that the suit pants I was wearing to work weren’t quite fitting right.
And I noticed that if I pricked my finger, sausage gravy would ooze out instead of blood.
All of which is to say that it dawned on me that I’m not 16 anymore, and that the proverbial chickens (or in my case, Egg McMuffins) were coming home to roost on my frame.
So sometime last summer, I joined the poor man’s gym and started jogging around the neighborhood at night. After doing it for a few weeks, I started to enjoy it. I even ran a 5K with my dad before the summer was over.
But just after the time changed last fall, I went out for a jog after dark. I followed my normal route only to discover that roughly 4% of it has any lighting at all. The rest of it was pitch black.
For a normal runner, darkness might not be such a problem. But for me, I have to concentrate on what I’m doing so intensely that there’s not much brainpower left to try to navigate a dark course.
It does, after all, take a lot of focus to keep the inner monologue of “You’re NOT going to die. So what if you can’t feel your legs? So what if your lungs are on fire? You’re NOT going to die.” going in my head.
After my one run in the dark, I hung it up. Except for Thanksgiving Day, when I went for a run to dislodge a hunk of sweet potato casserole that was stuck in my heart, I haven’t been since.
So yesterday was a start. Hopefully I can keep this train rolling over the next few months as it starts to warm up. If I stick with it, I should start to get myself in shape just in time for the baby to come. And then I can quit all over again.