This morning, these fitness freaks I'm vacationing with wanted to go on a run to "enjoy the beautiful city." A RUN!! That they tried to convince me would be so wonderful. I tried to convince them that enjoying this beautiful city for me equated to a patio and bottomless mimosas. They weren't having it and so I *reluctantly* agreed to put on my running shoes and at least go for a walk while they had their "enjoyable run."
I laced up my sneakers, explained to the part of me that was desperately shouting "NOOOOOOOO!!!!" that breakfast was just around the corner, and off I went. Not at a walk though. At a jog. My sweet sister kept pace with me for quite some time to keep me company. Well, and maybe to make sure I didn't take a detour into one of the many plates of french toast and buckets of bloody mary's we were passing.
I'm not gonna lie: As I jogged past the folks sitting on patios living out my dream morning, I felt a little bit impressed with myself. I was kind of thinking "Yeah, look at me. I'm running. Not eating a high calorie, high carb breakfast. I'm working out like a beast! SUCK IT!" I have no doubt that they saw me running by, hair pulled back in a pony tail, workout clothes on, and thought "Is that girl going to be okay?"
I kept a pretty good pace, you know, for someone isn't really a runner. We even went up a few flights of stairs and I handled that pretty well. I'll admit that the scenery was quite wonderful BUT it was hard to focus on that because of the rabid dog that was chasing me. Well, at least I thought it was a rabid dog. I mean, what would you think if you kept feeling slobber hit your shoes and you kept hearing this horrid ragged breathing? Yeah, see? Turns out though it was actually me slobbering and breathing like Darth Vader. I told you, I'm NOT runner. Running is HARD.
Sometime in the middle of my second loop around this what-would-have-been-gorgeous-if-I-had-not-been-RUNNING park/trail, I told myself that if I could just finish the second loop, I could walk the third. But then I got back to the beginning and I sort of thought "Steph, you're stronger than that. You can run just *one more loop!*" So I did. And despite the fact that I was being passed up by little old ladies 3 times my age, I was proud of my jog (Okay, shuffle).
When I got back to the beginning of the loop and it was time to head back, I thought I'd just walk back. But I dug in again and kept going. I sang the Rocky theme to myself as I scaled the last set of stairs and at the end I stopped to catch my breath, feeling embarrassed for nearly puking but still proud of my efforts. AND THEN I JOGGED SOME MORE! My sweet hubby stayed with me on that last leg, encouraging me, and never judging me for my Old Lady Shuffle back to the hotel.
This is what I love about where I am at this point in my life. I am getting wise enough to make better choices but I have the confidence to try things and to push myself in ways I never have. Now don't get excited: I am NOT going to become a runner. I do not enjoy running. It's just not my thing. When the hotel concierge asked, "How was the run this morning?" The Fitness Freaks all said, "Oh, just BEAUTIFUL! We could have run forever!" I said, "It was kind of beat down." The front desk guy and I have a pact that he'll bring doughnuts and I'll bring coffee if The Fitness Freaks try to make me go running again on my freaking vacation! I kid, I kid.
I'm actually really glad they encouraged me to go. I have a great family that isn't pushy but encouraging. And I appreciate the encouragement and the fact that they didn't just leave me behind with my slow jog. I appreciate that they wouldn't have given me a hard time even if I had stayed at the hotel in bed. I appreciate that they did a great job of making me feel good about myself for getting up and going. And, really, let's be honest: I really REALLY appreciated the reward after the run--breakfast and bottomless mimosas.
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