Today, I’m tackling the all the emerging bumps around my middle. Or not.
The last couple of years the boy and I have run a 5k that benefits an organization called Matt’s Place. Trust me, if I’m running a 5k for a charity, it means that I really care about it. After all, I can write a check and call it a day like I do for the kids’ school fund-raisers. I’ve given up going door to door about four years ago.
But this year, I was not feeling it. Okay, my body is mush this year…I admit it. So all last week, I was trying to come up with reasons to not do it. I didn’t even sign up for beforehand, choosing instead to just show up and register that day. Signing up ahead means commitment and if I just stayed in bed that day then I’m not really irresponsible since no one would be expecting me. “Where’s Puna? I see her on the registration, she’s not here. How irresponsible!”
Actually I’m sure no one cared, but these are the mind games I play in my head.
So you say, “Does she teach fitness classes?” Why yes I do. But as any runner would know, the only way to get ready for a race is to run. I teach step and find that no matter how many yoga classes you do during the week, your thighs will still kill you on a hill. I know the pain after a race.
And I have these little bitty tiny short legs.
Runners really never look like they’re having fun do they?
Last week was a tough week at work. Things didn’t go as planned and it was my fault so I spent some sleepless hours the night before trying to figure out how to right the situation and praying that I handle the consequences well. If you are up at 3 am thinking about work, there’s no way you can run a 5k the next day. At least I can’t.
So I went into the boy’s room at 7:15 am to wake him up for the race. We had to be at the race at 8 am…I’m not moving very quickly. I said to the boy, “Lets just do the mile instead of the 5k.” He was glad, after all, he likes to run just as much as his mom does.
I grab my camera and think to myself, “You know what? I can’t run and take photos.” If you haven’t figured out by now, I’m the queen of rationalization and I really didn’t want to run the race.
So the boy and I get there and sign up, pay our money, and get our shirts and race numbers. We walk to the starting line and I step to the side. The boy said, “Mom, you’re not going to run?” I said, “Nah, you go ahead. I’m going to take pictures instead.”
He didn’t look surprised, I’m sure he knew all along…
I make myself useful by going to the edge of the woods where the one mile, 3k and 5k races split in different directions. I stood there with a couple of other ladies to help guide the runners to their routes as they emerge. I wait and wait and wait for the boy.
Little kids come out, old ladies come out. But no boy. At least not my boy.
This is a trail run, there’s hills, there’s mud, there’s bears in them there woods.
After what seems like forever he emerges and yells to me, “I went the wrong way!” This is when my devious mind kicks into gear. Sometimes it takes me forever to make a decision but when it comes to torturing my kids, my mind works at the speed of light. I point to the 3k route and gesture “Go that way.”
The fact that he was running the mile and not the 3k was of no consequence. He had already gotten lost and his time was already ruined. He might as well get some extra exercise. I told him later…I’ll leave it at that.
Taylor won the 5k. Just look at that time. This is a trail run…I would still be on the first lap. He’s young.
And the issue with work? Well, it still stings, after all it was my fault. But my boss wrote me a note that included this phrase, “I genuinely trust that it won’t happen again.” I have a good boss. And no, it won’t happen again.
