Workout: 3.5-mile run
Yesterday, Denali and I had the distinct honor of waiting for the dishwasher repairman. Jerry - that was his name - was supposed to come anywhere between 8 and 10 a.m., which usually means, "I'll show up at 9:59 and make you late for work."
While we were lucky enough that Jerry came at 9:10 (to tell us that the dishwasher was clogged with debris), our chances of a walk or run were shot. We watched "Good Morning America," lifted weights and made breakfast. We stared out the window, blinds open, and felt envy as runners flew by down the sidewalk. We wanted to be out there. We wanted to be doing that.
And it's funny that I felt those pangs of jealousy yesterday because I had no desire to go out there this morning. But I am who I am, and I managed to get out there with the hope of doing 3 miles.
With the first step, I was feeling regret. My calves were sore (I have no idea why) and the muscle/tendon/ligament strain on the sides of my growing belly was evident. I didn't want to do it. I just didn't. And just after 1 mile, I began to wonder whether this run - this crappy run - was an indication that it should be my last. No big decision. No fanfare. No last hurrah. One last run at the end of my 20th week.
I was beginning to write the end when Denali began to do this thing, this thing that usually annoys the bejeebus out of me. He slowed down to a prance, nearly getting in front of me, so that he can touch his nose to my hand. It always makes you look directly at him, right in his bi-colored eyes, so you can see that he is having a great time. His eyes glow, his mouth makes a doggy smile. The joy is impossible to deny.
And so he did this morning, nudging my hand with his snout. He smiled and pushed me along. It was as if he was telling me, "Mama, you got this. We like this. We can do this." I am such a pushover when it comes to him that I couldn't deny his "encouragement" and let go. Let go of the idea that I could quit (very different than need to quit).
It still wasn't a great run. I was tired and the hill at the end killed me. But I did it. And I didn't pee my pants ... I don't think.