stepson – My Time to Bloom

I headed out for a distance run last night, and in hindsight, I don’t know what I was thinking. I laced up my shoes, plugged in my headphones, and took off, apparently completely forgetting several crucial things: sleep deprivation from a freaking hurricane; hours of manual labor each day, cleaning up the yard; stress jacked up through the roof; and sporadic and not-the-healthiest eating because the power had been out for three days.

Not surprisingly, my run started out sluggish. Not to worry! I’ll catch my second wind once I get into a groove. Okay, maybe not. Ummm, know what, maybe I’d rather curl up under that tree over there and take a snooze…

I forced myself to keep going, and my body rebelled. You know when you blow up a balloon and pinch the ends closed, then suddenly let go, and all the air whooshes out of the balloon with that funny *pfffffft* sound and quickly deflates? Well, last night I was that balloon. All of the energy drained out of me in a rush (thankfully without the sound effects, though, which would have been embarrassing). The last two weeks, from illness to a hurricane, caught up with me and said, “Lady, just stop this nonsense and sit the hell down.”

I fought it at first and pushed out one more horrible, torturous mile, then slapped some sense into myself. What was I doing? What was the point to forcing myself to run when my body said it couldn’t? I was just teaching myself to hate running and likely bringing on an injury.

I finally stopped, cooled down, stretched, and went home. I was disappointed, because I had wanted to cover at least 9 miles. My husband asked how I did, and I grumbled “Five miles.” He smiled in confusion, not sure why I was upset, and said “You did great.” I told him I had wanted 9 miles, and he replied simply, “You did five miles.”

Yes, I did. I knew I was being silly. When I first started running again, five miles was unfathomable. And it’s not like I will never run those 9 miles. Just not right now.

I took a shower, packed my lunch for the next day, grabbed a blanket, and snuggled up next to my husband to relax, rest, and just enjoy being with him and my stepson for the rest of the evening. It was definitely what I needed, and the miles will be waiting for me, when I’m ready.

I was looking forward to weigh-in Saturday morning, because I thought for sure, the week I ran half-marathon distance, I must have torched some serious pounds! I stepped onto the scale, eager to see the number.

169.0

On one hand, that was awesome. My mini-goal was hitting the 160’s, and I did it! I lost 2 pounds since last week. I should have been excited, right?

But I wasn’t. Two pounds? After running over 13 miles? I felt cheated and disappointed. I’m not sure exactly what I expected, just more than that.

Two pounds is still two pounds in the right direction and two pounds closer to my goal. My reward for reaching the 160’s is this workout DVD:

I love Cathe Friedrich, and this weight-training DVD got really good reviews. Her DVD’s tend to cost a bit more (this one was over $20), but I have found they are well worth it. I will review it after I receive it and try it out.

This past weekend, my stepkids were home with us. My 13-year-old stepson told me he saw my post on Facebook about running over 13 miles, and he congratulated me and said, “I liked it on Facebook because you said you had been trying to reach that distance for a long time.” I loved that he was proud of me. It meant so much to me.

But…I had checked that post to see who had liked it, and his name wasn’t on that list. I checked again, thinking I had just missed it, but nope, it wasn’t there. Well, he certainly didn’t lie about liking it, and he had obviously seen it because he knew I had mentioned it being a goal of mine for a long time. There is only one possible explanation: after he liked it, his biological mother, Psycho, logged in as him and un-liked it.

I just shook my head. Yes, that is definitely something she would do, as sad and pathetic as it is. My stepson liking something I wrote about my fitness achievements would have sent her into a jealous spiral of rage. Well, let her be jealous. That’s her prerogative. My stepson knows what I achieved, and he is proud of me, and she can’t change that!