So, I run.
I used to get up at 5:00am as a teen and run, and I remember being the most fit I've ever been. And the happiest.
My husband suggested we try something. We are both so tired, and so at our wits end, and so (hate to say it) out of shape, that we needed to act. He asked if I'd like to go running twice a week, on my own. Um, YES. Anything on my own at this point sounds completely amazing.
So my husband gets up early on Monday and Wednesday and goes running around our quiet town of Ripon, and I do the same on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I have to say, I get so excited about it. I look forward (for once) to my 5:00am nursing session with Ivey because after I put her back to bed I am FREE! I don my running apparel, grab the iPod I was supposed to be using for the last 2 years (when could I possibly use an iPod? I need to be free to hear if someone is crying or whatnot), and go.
At first, while I ran, lungs burning, I thought of all the things I was running for (from?): I'm running from all the stress, all the mess, all the things that make me crazy. I'm running away from what I can't control. I'm running from myself. I'm running from my kids and all their needs. I'm running from last night's dishes.
And then, as my lungs stopped burning, and the euphoria of the endorphins kicked in, I began to realize what I was really running for (to!): My kids, my own happiness, my freedom (which really does exist!), love for my husband, love for my body and my desire to be fit and healthy again.
So I run. And it really puts into perspective my life. And I realize I have a great life. Aside from the pesky dishes overflowing in my sink, I have a pretty amazing husband, beautiful and adorable children, and I have to admit, a pretty rockin' body for someone who just birthed her third child.
Thanks for letting me brag on myself and please forgive for the over-use of parentheses.