I got on the treadmill and ran today, the first real exercise aside from a vigorous walk that I have done in months. And by “ran” I mean mostly walked, but interspersed some 1-2 minute stretches of slow jogging. It hurt.
Back in my 20s, 6mph was my base running speed. I could run 3 miles capably. Maybe not fast, but I could get it done. That would be a typical workout – 3, maybe 3.5 or 4 miles.
Now, at the end of my 30s, 5mph is my base running speed. And sometimes that hurts and I drop down to 4.8mph. When I’m in better shape than I am now, I might maintain a 5.5mph for a while.
But today, no. It just hurt. My hips hurt, my legs hurt, my lungs hurt. My pride really hurt. But it was something, it was a start. During harvest especially, when my life is 98% work and kids, I need something to make me feel like I’m more than just a zombie working mom, something to call my own. And that something needs to be done in my house, at whatever time that I can squeeze it in. So maybe this could be it, and maybe I could become a bit less mushy in the process.