Foot Soldier

Almost two weeks ago I ran the American River Parkway Half Marathon. Like the overly-ambitious gal I am, I had hardly trained since I ran my last half marathon 6 weeks prior but decided to do it anyway. But did I take it easy? Absolutely not! I pushed myself and ran it in 1 hour and 45 minutes, just seconds shy of my PR (personal record). I thought I was pretty cool. I thought I was so cool, in fact, that I decided to take a little 3-mile jog with Zen and B.O.B. the jog stroller the very next day. Not a smart move. My foot started aching a mile into the run, which meant that I ended up limping almost a mile home. That was neither fun nor sexy. I hobbled around the office in flip flops for three days--again, not sexy. Then I discovered that walking around in my 3-inch pumps was actually easier than in flats. I swear it was better. (Besides, who's telling this story, you or me?) Anyway, being able to dress up again made life better--I didn't look like a total dork, but I still couldn't run. 'It's fine, I'll go to the gym!' It sounded like a good plan, and I headed to the gym with hubby and baby in tow at 8:30 am on Saturday. No thanks to the Separation Anxiety Fairy, Zen would have none of my leaving her at the gym day care. In fact, she even screamed while Daddy held her so I could work out. I got in a solid 15 minutes of kickboxing, all the while watching my toddler screaming in the window before we just decided it was time to throw in the towel. Sunday I got to take my new baby bike trailer for a spin. It was really cool, but not quite as endorphin-pumping as running. So
I tried to run again on Monday. I figured over a week had elapsed since my last run.

No go.

By this point I'm getting pretty ticked off. I'm generally a nice girl, but I go from zero to bitch in 2.5 seconds when I haven't been "getting my ya-yas" out." That's what my Dad used to say when I was a kid and I was bouncing off of the walls--sometimes literally. He'd encourage me to run around our 3-acre yard or jump on the trampoline in the garage when I got too hyper and ornery. This should come as a surprise to know one who knows me.

But I digress. Back to the foot.

So I rest. And rest. And rest. And this may sound like a freakin fabulous time to you, but to a person like me it is the equivalent of solitary confinement. Finally, I attempt a jog again.

Mile 1: so far, so good
Mile 2: still good
Mile 3: wahoo!!! I'm back!!!

It felt so fantastic to move again that I went out the next day and nearly sprinted on the return trip home. I'm now looking forward to defending my title as fastest jog stroller at the Women's Fitness Festival 5K in June. Wish me luck!