run or cry

Do you ever have one of those runs that is so bad that it simply has to be the start of something better because it couldn't get any worse? One of those "perfect storm" runs, where everything in your life that interferes with your running is presented to you, all at once, like a mythological test of will and character?

It's been a hot summer - running any time after 8am is uncomfortable, running after noon is just dangerous. And with my sacrifice of my Saturday morning runs to the Husband's work schedule, finding time to get in runs on a regular basis has been nearly impossible. Sure, I'll pound out a mile on the treadmill at lunchtime, and I've been swimming a lot at the neighborhood pool, but I am not race ready.

This morning was a rare Saturday where the husband didn't have a gig. I claimed dibs, and told him he was in charge of the kids till 9am. Like an idiot, I set my alarm for 6:35, which is about 10 minutes before Max is usually up for the day. Next thing I know, I'm putting on my sneakers and I have company. The Husband was still asleep.

I made Max breakfast, feeling my morning run ticking away with every Cheerio. Then I attempted to gently remind the Husband that he was in charge. As I tried to slip out, with the Husband still snoozing and Max groggy and clingy, it met with some resistance. The next thing I know, I'm putting the buggy in the back of the car and telling a tear-streaked Max he can come with me as long as he doesn't slow me down.

Loyal readers (hi Mo and Robine) probably know that I enjoy the solitude of running, so you can imagine that I was, to put it mildly, peeved to suddenly have an unwanted running buddy. I love him, but he weighs 42 pounds, and needs snacks and potty breaks.

Of course, 5 minutes in to our drive, he freaked out about not being at home, so I turned around. I walked him up to the front door and opened it, where I heard Sami squeal "Mama!!" from the kitchen. I shoved Max inside ahead of me, and closed the door before she could see me. Yeah, great parenting, I know.

45 minutes behind schedule, I left the driveway again. The temperature was already 77 degrees, and I almost bagged the run entirely. The mountain of mom guilt I felt for leaving my babies was huge. Almost as big as the grudge I was holding against the Husband for not snapping to when duty called.

I ran the Monticello trail, one of my favorite runs. And yet, I was peeved about that, too. I really wanted to be running some of my old training grounds that I don't feel comfortable running without the safety of a group or at least a running partner. Ridge Road, I'm talking about you!! And Dick Woods, god bless you, maybe even you, too, just a little.

With tears in my eyes, I kept my sunglasses on and my hat pulled low and started off.

The first half mile was pretty good. Each step shook off a little more of the angst, guilt, and anger. But I wasn't ready to make eye contact with any fellow trailgoers; I kept my eyes averted.

I don't know if it was the heat, the humidity, or my growing hunger and need to pee, but I started falling apart. I almost turned around a mile up the two mile path, but figured that I could stop at the visitor's center up top and use the bathroom, and maybe even get an iced coffee at the cafe.

No such luck. I reached the gates to the grounds and an elderly rent-a-cop, clearly drunk with power, roundly chastised me for attempting to run through before the official opening time. He was overly rude to someone who clearly wasn't out to vandalize or wreak any havoc, and it took a lot of willpower not to just drop trou right on Mr. Jefferson's Little Mountain and take care of my potty break right there at that picturesque wayside.

I begrudgingly turned around and headed back down the hill. Despite being wooded, there are precious few areas appropriate for answering a call of nature, so I pressed on.

Usually I let my legs unwind on the long downhill, but I just didn't have any rhythm left. Any baggage I had dropped on the way up, I was picking right back up and then some on the way down. And it was so humid I felt like I needed gills to breathe. I took walk breaks for my lungs. I took walk breaks for my legs. I took walk breaks for my psyche. I ran only when I needed to keep from crying, because I was so worn out that it was really one or the other at that point. If I have to pick between running and crying, there is no fucking way I am picking crying.

How did I get here? How did I get from being a marathoning superwoman to a frazzled mom who can't run downhill? Hip injury, bad winter, illness, hot summer, kid illness, business trips, workaholic husband, needy kids, blah blah blah. I can only chalk it all up to excuses at this point, and resolve to do better tomorrow. I thought for a long time that running was getting in the way of things I wanted to do with my life. But today I learned that running is one of the things on a very short list that I do want, no, NEED, to do with my life. I need to get a plan, get a program, pick a race, find a group, find some time, change my schedule, buy new bras. But mostly, I just need to pick running.