Run like a mother

I shuffled to the mailbox today looking like Mrs. Wiggins from Carol Burnett. My ankles hurt, my knees ached, my thighs burned, and I think we’d better stop there.

You see, since it’s not socially acceptable to drink 24/7, I thought I would attempt to achieve a runner’s high. I mean, all my friends are doing it. Well, peer pressure ain’t what it used to be. Now days women are expected to bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan, and then burn it off with a half-marathon. I blame Sarah Palin.

Ironically, the older the woman, the farther the distance she’s expected to run. And having children does not excuse one from this expectation. I recently saw a woman cross the finish line of a 5K pushing not one, not two, not three, but four toddlers, also known as quadruplets.

It was then and there I realized I could no longer use running the Fun Run with my kids as an excuse, especially since they are well beyond the toddler stage. So, last winter, I entered a 5K in my small town. I soon learned it’s not just a 5K. It’s a major social event in which anyone who is anybody participates, if not by running, then serving food and cheering people on along the sidelines.

I will spare you the details of my run – how little kids zipped by me, how I managed to finally pass an 80-year-old (No, I did not steal his cane), how my friend from high school thought my time was great, great for a 10K, that is.

Alas, it’s a new year, and even though I’ve written before (click HERE) about my being born not to run, I’m going to give it another go. This year I’m even training for it; hence, my sore muscles. So, even though I’m in the throes of a runner’s low, I’m going to fill out the application that (ironically) was in the mail today. Why? ‘Cause I’m a woman!