My husband and I have started feeling our age in the last couple of years. When we got a church softball league going last summer, and found ourselves playing teams of twenty-somethings, it was sad how much more nimble they were, and how much more accident prone we were. They celebrated afterward with cold beer in the parking lot. We had to buy beers from the snack bar; the ice from our coolers was for medicinal needs. My brother-in-law is a physical therapist and about ten years younger than us. We were so grateful he joined the team; he handled both the triage and Center Field.
In the latest chapter of my failed athleticism, my husband suggested to me this morning that I should bail on a short, 1 mile, Fun Run I signed up to do next weekend. It’s the ultimate insult to consider myself inadequate to complete 1 stinking mile. My six year old could probably run a mile – in high heels and a party dress.
The doctor cleared me for exercise last week, and, while I have managed to drop the baby-weight, the scale really doesn’t tell the whole story; there is plenty of soft on me. I thought, perhaps, this should be my summer to really pursue a higher degree of fitness. I printed out a 22 week workout plan that is supposed to take you from couch potato to Sprint Tri-athlete. We decided that the swimming part was going to be too complicated for now, childcare wise, but my husband agreed to join me in the biking and running. I even went and purchased shoes that are actually designed for running; they're so uncool looking, I wouldn’t wear them to Walmart. Well, OK, maybe Walmart, but not Target.
We stepped up the workouts last night, and started to jog 2/3 of the time, and walk the other 1/3. I knew it was doing me good, when I started having to push myself to get through the last couple intervals. I kept putting one foot in front of the other and thought, “Oh, yeah, I can do this thing!” Celebrate with me – my half mile split was under ten minutes! I can hear the roar of your chuckles already, but if I can finish the run in less than half an hour next weekend, I get a medal! And I won’t get run over by the serious runners when they start their race. By the way, if 1 mile is a “fun” run, why would you run further? Is a 2 mile run a “funner” run? A marathon must be hilarious.
I woke up this morning with a pain in my right knee. I looked it up online and have self-diagnose Iliotibial Band Syndrome. It says the first recourse to heal it, is to rest your knee. What? I decide to get out and exercise, and the moment I start feeling some sense of accomplishment, my knee decides it needs rest? This hardly seems fair. Even worse, my husband took my knee’s side in the matter. I feel so betrayed and old.
Strengthen the feeble hands, steady the knees that give way. Isaiah 35:3