The One About My Knee

Some of you regular readers (thank you thank you thank you) may remember this first post I did about being chubby in real life, and not getting too worked up about it. So here's another installment in the life of a chubby mommy runner:

I hurt my knee. I think it was the three 6 mile runs, the two 5 mile runs and the one 3 mile walk with the 20 pound weight vest this week that might have done it.

Too much, too fast. Not a surprise, really. Story of my life.

So now I have to sit here with frozen peas on my knee and worry about not running, and what's going to happen to my sanity this week.

The thing is, I've kind of gotten used to running for an hour in the mornings because it makes the rest of my day go better, it helps me sleep, it makes my brain happy, and all I can think about is what am I supposed to do now, sitting here with peas on my leg all day?

I'm a little worried about this, for real. It's causing me angst. Even Twitter isn't solving my problem. I know it. It's kind of bad.

So this whole thing is a bit funny actually (in a weird way not in a haha way) when you think about it, because I still sort of hate running, even though I actually sort of love it once I get over the 3 mile mark and get into the endorphin-high thing. But I still hate the first mile and I always have.

Love-hate, love-hate, love-hate. I'm like a movie star fighting the paparazzi. Kind of.

Before you say "you should just walk fast!" or "you should ride your bike!" or "you should swim!" let me just say, I know. But I sort of hate those things too. I actually sort of hate them more than running and here's why:

Walking Fast: I do walk fast several days a week, in addition to my running, because I like to go on walks with Pierre the puppy, and my husband and my kids. It's all well and good, but walking doesn't actually do enough to burn off my fat and make my brain switch over to it's happy druggy place. Trust me on this. If you leave me comments about how I'm not doing the walking right, I'll ignore you.

Biking: it's good transportation, and I rode my bike to work for a year and a half back when I had a real job, but I hate being hot with a bike to deal with in the middle of the desert just for "fun." Not my thing.

Swimming: I used to swim all the time. I sort of hate lap swimming though. There's always a little chance I could drown if I get tired, and it ruins my hair which I don't think Rachel will appreciate. I still swim for fun you know, with my friends, while we're sitting around drinking vodka at the pool (ok, for real this only happened once on "vacation" so pipe down) and watching our kids frolic and then we get in and do some handstands and maybe race the 9 year olds across the pool before we get out, sit in the shade and read our magazines. I know I might have to swim again for exercise if forced, but I have to pay to use the pool and I have to drive there. And I have to put on a swimsuit.

So. Back to the running.

Please, for the love of god, remember that I'm 43 and I've been running since high school, off and on, and I've always been chubby, off and on, which means running and I have our own little love-hate relationship, so just leave us the f*u*k alone because we already know all about this ridiculous, unreasonable thing we have together.

Running and I both know I don't have the body type for the distances I want to run. We know it's unreasonable for us to continue this relationship. It just doesn't make sense, long term. It never has. I can't explain it. I don't know why I insist on continuing the farce. I guess it's a co-dependent addiction.

I should stop running and just keep reading "The Power of Now." I should Zen myself away from running. It'd be better for me. I'd become self-actualized, probably, if I stopped running.

My name is juliejulie and I still run, even though I'm really too chubby for this sport.

Oh, sorry I sort of used the F word without being brave enough to use all the letters. That's lame, I know. Maybe if I were brave enough to cuss on my blog, I'd be brave enough to do all sorts of things I want to do but know I probably shouldn't.

Let's not go there today.

The fact is, it boils down to this: I'm 43, about 25 pounds over weight, depending on who you're talking too, and what kind of muscle tone I happen to be sporting this year, and my knees can only take so much.

Duh. I know this.

So now I'll sit around for a few days with my peas and go on little walks with the dog and pretend this will all be fine, and I'll be better soon. Because this is how I deal with everything in my life, you see, and so far it's worked out.

I'll keep you posted.