Today was day two of my “getting back into shape” routine. My goal WAS to run in the Hornell YMCA Shamrock race which is held the 2nd or 3rd Saturday of March. Before I had 4 children, I used to run and would have been considered fairly athletic. Having seen a number of women my age and older running and doing 5 k’s and other events like “Dirty Girl” I thought, “sure I can do this.” After my second day of maybe a 1.5 mile walk, I now feel more like Outta Shape Mc Fattie pants. And that’s just with WALKING! I haven’t even started running and honestly, I’m not sure if I’m gonna make it to that.
Yesterday, I started with a brisk “trot” down the street. A fast pace walk, light in step and long in stride. I was invigorated by the mild winter day and the chance to be outside, alone. Music pumped through Kelan’s Riptunes player helping me to maintain my pace. I rounded the corner of Bennett Street onto Seneca with the intent to walk the length of it and back. About 2 miles or so give or take. By the time I got to my half way mark I was having difficulty keeping pace with the Kids Bop dance mix on and was cursing myself for having brought the damn thing. Pride kept me on pace, but my lungs told me to turn around there and head on back. Telling myself “That was okay, I was just getting back into this after all.” I crossed the street to head home, my brisk light step becoming increasingly labored. At one point a slim woman, obviously in great shape, cruised past me at a fast run. I glared at her as she whooshed by, secretly wishing she’d hit a crack, trip and sprain her ankle.
My hips began to burn and my upright posture turned into something I’m sure resembled a 95-year-old lady hunched over a walker. By the time I returned to Bennett Street, I wasn’t sure what happened to my Nike’s. Somehow they had turned into concrete blocks cemented to my feet. With each laden step an electric shock went up my shins. My stride became completely hindered by my frozen hip joints. I actually sobbed out loud “Oh my God!” as I tried to climb the last bit of my jaunt up the gradual incline to my house. I was grateful when an icy blast of wind helped propel my disgraced self up the last leg of my walk.
I walked into the house gasping for air and rubbing my aching hips. My husband looked at me and said “Really?” If I’d have had any strength left, I would have punched him. He then asked “So, what hurts more? Your body or your pride?’
I gasped “Shut it!” and then “I’m… not sure… if… I’m going to… pass out… or… throw up!”
Today was even more of an embarrassment. Braeden my oldest child wanted to walk with me. He’ll be eleven in 8 days. I warned him that I was walking fast and he may not be able to keep up. He rolled his eyes and assured me that he’d have no trouble doing so.
Bundled and out the door we went. Not as briskly as I started yesterday, but determined to walk through the pain. Braeden chatted happily with me until we got to my turn around point… at which time I had to concentrate on breathing through the pain in my hips and shin’s. Braeden, however, kept stride with me and then some as he continued to talk, jump, run and do grape vines and sprints. By the time we were almost home, I could barely answer his constant questions. I did gasp multiple times “Oh my God! My hips hurt!” to which he encouraged me on with “Well ya know mom, I’ve been playing sports since I could walk.” He beat me home by running up the steep hill in front of our house and was already kicked back with a coke and a smile by the time I crawled through the door.
At this point I think I’ll be skipping the Shamrock run and work towards the Turkey Trot next Thanksgiving.