Tone, Trash Talk, and Thanksgiving Turkey: Part II

Last updated on: October 9, 2008 at 2:00 pm by Bethany "B-mama"

Tone, Trash Talk, and Thanksgiving Turkey: Part II 2008-10-09T14:00:00-06:00 Bethany "B-mama"

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As we look ahead to our 8k on November 23rd, I have to admit to feeling a bit uncertain about this whole race scenario, competitors included. Is JM really serious when she talks about this being a true competition? Does she kill it on the elliptical each day, dreaming of running the rest of us into the ground? And how far is Red really running? Yes, she’s talked about completing “only 3 miles”, but how fast is she clicking off those miles? She’s definitely known for speed. Can I hang with these girls?

That last question gets to the heart of the matter–the uncertainty I have about myself and my current running abilities. The baby is only 2 months old and my body is a wacky ball of hormones, belly fat, and leftover saddlebags with stretchmarks ;). How in the world can I now call upon it to run? And to possibly run competitively and fast?

These thoughts have circled through my brain over the past week a few too many times… They are definitely to blame for the defeatist path I find myself on now and again. It’s almost as if there’s a large wall in front of my postpartum self, standing in the way of smooth strides, effortless breathing, euphoric feelings, and general shape. If you’ve ever really gotten into running, you would say life beyond “the wall” is truly amazing. Heading out on a run transforms from a daily “to do” to a “if I don’t do this I’ll go insane” kind of thing. You become hooked and addicted to the feel good of a jog. Joints don’t hurt, muscles don’t ache because one’s body is primed and ready.

I long for this again. And I know it will come. It always comes back eventually. One step at a time. Just as in everything else (except for maybe faith), you have to pay your dues before reaping the goodness.

I conquered the elliptical today. 5 minute warm-up, 5 “on”, 5 “off”, 5 on, 5 off, 5 on, 10 cool down. Our oldest cheered from the sidelines–“Mommy, you’re going really fast.”

That’s my boy. That’s my boy…

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