Tag Archives: jogging


I’m big on setting goals. Measurable goals. For as much as I pick on MQD and the SCIENCE (imagine I said science with jazz hands and a hint of feigned terror in my voice) I love a good graph.

When I decided I was ready to hop back on the fitness train I returned to Couch to 5K. Couch to 5K is a training program designed to take you from the couch (no way! Me? the couch? I didn’t gain almost sixty pounds with this pregnancy at the gym!) to running a solid thirty minutes without stopping in nine weeks. I have a tendency to overexert myself. A training program is necessary to keep me from deciding to try and run six miles after three leisurely strolls around the block has me thinking I am in tip top shape.

The trouble with the Couch to 5K? It ends. After nine weeks where do I go from there? Without the magical iPhone telling me to Run (which is laughable as my jogging speed has been known to be slower than my walking speed, but whatever!) I am lost.

But something crazy has happened to me. I remember when Em was teeny. She wasn’t big on napping. I decided training for the OBX Marathon was a good idea. The jogging stroller was my idea of a vacation. Every day, no matter what else happened, I had an hour on Bay Drive. If you go to the Outer Banks and you have never driven down Bay Drive and admired the homes and the sunset and the sound side living you are missing out. (Oh, how I miss you, long, deliciously flat Bay Drive…) It is happening again.

I finished the Couch to 5K on June 5th. 20120612-194338.jpg

And then I did it again, every day for the next FIVE days!! I am keeping it up. I am motivated not only by the health benefits and the uninterrupted Me time, I admit. The number on the scale has me a little freaked out. I haven’t ever said that number out loud here. I showed you my stretchmarks, but that number? It is like pooping in front of someone. I don’t do that.

But I am done hiding. I weighed 226 the day before Lucy was born. I’d hit an all time ten year low of 167 before we got married. I weigh a lot, and I am okay with that. I have size 10.5 feet and D cups, they come with a price.

I avoided the scale immediately after Lucy was born. I know my tendency to get antsy about my weight and I knew I needed to be eating well and frequently in order to establish and maintain a milk supply those crucial first six weeks.

My six week post partum visit greeted me with a 197. What the shit? I’d had a baby six weeks ago!! I was horrified. I hit the ground running, literally.


And then shortly after I hit the ground, I hit the store.  I wrote about my new shoes.  But I haven’t mentioned my new found love of the running skirt.  It makes me feel like a cheerleader.  I never was a cheerleader but I imagine this is what it felt like.  “Hey you, my ass is almost showing but it is all in the name of sports!!  Check me out! But don’t talk shit, I’m an athlete, bitches!”  Did I say that out loud?  So help me, I am wearing day glow running skirts and I don’t even know who the hell I am anymore.

This morning I downloaded the “Bridge to 10K” app.  I need to keep going. I have to keep going.  It might take me longer than the six weeks it suggests.  But I’ll get there.  And if you look at the screenshot on the right, in the top corner, it’s a graph!!  A GRAPH!  I am as happy as a pig in shit.  Or a middle aged, 184 pound mom of two in a hot pink running skirt.  And let me tell you from my experience, that is pretty happy.


Am I on Candid Camera?

I did not actually make the international symbol for “Call me!” as I drove away. But that is the only lame thing I didn’t manage to do.

I am trying my damnedest to stick my neck out.  Or my hand.  And make friends.  Mommy friends.  People from Em’s class or women I see at the park.  I adore the friends I have.  And I don’t make the time to see them as it is, so why should I not try to add more people to the rolodex of folks I seem to ignore in favor of going to bed at quarter of eight by the light of Bravo?

Nonetheless I had said I was going to try.

And this morning while jogging an opportunity presented itself. This is not how I usually dress when I try to pick up chicks.  I saw her car pull up at the park.  She had two girls around Emily’s age, one with her bicycle. She was wearing exercise capri’s and sneakers and had the 2012 Mom Summer Haircut.  I watched her from the other side of the walking track.  On I ran,  pondering changing my route so I could pass by her a few times, scope her out, but that seemed absurd.  And as I finished my third mile around the park I noted that she and her girls were by the swings, which is totally near the water fountain…

So I said… “Yeah, not to say “Do you come here often?” but umm… I do… and that is how I know you don’t actually come here often… so I just thought I’d say hello.”  Then I rambled on a bit about how I’d planned on running Monday through Friday in the morning, between eight and nine and maybe her girls could entertain my older daughter and we could jog or plan on meeting up “and it could be like a thing.”  That is what I said.  A thing. Like I asked her on a date but was  scared to call it that.  Or give her my number.

I can remember a hundred years ago going back to the same bar over and over again because a guy I’d liked might show up there again.  All I ever got was drunk.  Maybe I’ll just keep going back to the park. Only this time I might get healthier instead of broke and loaded.

So… I floundered at the end.  But I was feeling kind of awesome this morning anyway. When I got out of the shower I looked at myself in the mirror.  And with the handheld liposuction, you know where you hold your stomach up, thereby eliminating the hanging post partum marsupial skin (note that I have spared you a picture of this) I didn’t look half bad.  I felt good.

I pulled on a favorite pair of Old Navy cargo pants, elastic waist band, drawstring really, but they were pre-baby pants.  I felt kind of normal.  And good.  Tomorrow is the first day of my summer as a mostly stay at home mom of two and it was gonna be cool.  I grabbed my pita pocket sandwich, my diaper bag and  my kid, slipped on my totally adorable purple flats and headed out the door.  Lucy dropped her toy. I bent down to grab it and did not drop my sandwich or spill my coffee.

But I split my fucking pants.  Eh.  Can’t win them all.  If this gal ever shows up at the park and we chat and she likes me I’m totally gonna tell her this.  “So I was feeling all rad for trying to make a friend.  And then I split the ass in my favorite fucking pants.  You’d better be worth it.”