Well, whaddya know, I actually went running today. No more snow, no more "can't find my shoes," or "I'm out of town," or "work just got in the way today," excuses.
I found my orange shoes, my iPod, some clean running clothes, and a job bra that actually fits. I found my orange hat with the blue flower.
Finally, zip! Out the door, and up the first hill. And then...wait for it...
Ugg. I'm so out of shape, after taking 10 days off, that I scared myself. The air was cold, my breathing was heavy. In the middle of the first hill, a lady in a car had to stop and wait for me to pass her before she could turn into her driveway. It took me so long to run past her, that I swear she started making calls and checking her email.
She's was probably Twittering: "Stuck on hill in front of house. Chubby Runner taking eternity to get past my driveway. Might need to call 911."
So, that six weeks of work to build up my tolerance to the three-mile hill loop? Zapped within the first 1/4 mile.
That proud feeling of making it up almost every hill five days a week? Gone.
Wondering if I should start an actual running club to train for a half marathon? Forget it.
Thinking I might make a good Oprah before and after story? Sorry, no.
The realization that for the past 26 years I've had to talk myself into exercising and that I probably always will because I really don't like to exercise? Accepted.
Seeing my finger sink deeply into the rolls of chub above the waistband of my stretchy pants? Acknowledged.
But knowing that I can still put on my cheery orange shoes whenever I want, walk out my front door, breath clean air, and make my legs run up a hill, even if it's just halfway? Priceless.
Embracing the chub, and still running for my life? Yes.