Today I went for a run with the jog stroller.
For some you will read that statement and think,
"So, that's not an accomplishment."
It is for me.
Up to this point in Emma's little life I have been able to go running without her. In Colorado Scott usually didn't leave for work until nine. This would allow me to get up, sip some coffee and and then bound out our front door for a run, return and shower all before he had to leave. He is now required to be at work at eight. I am also cooking for the staff so I am required to set out breakfast or prepare it by 7:15. This makes running in the morning difficult. Especially if I want to avoid getting up in the five o'clock hour, and I do. Oh, I do.
Some mornings I get up at six, go exercise and am back in time to make coffee and set out cereal and bagels for the students. Waking up in the morning is a monumental task for me, I usually wake up and think, 'Seriously? It's already over?' These early morning runs are ate best slow and painful. This morning I made french toast, so I got up rolled into some clothes, grabbed coffee and headed over. I decided to run after breakfast.
This is a big deal because I do not like running with the stroller. I feel it reduces me to the dorkiest form ever. I feel hunched over, Quasimodo style, and like my legs are windmilling outwards on either side of me. In short I feel like Willie Coyote windmilling his legs in preparation to run after the Road Runner. Except not that fast.
Necessity is the mother of, 'doing it anyway even though I don't like it that much.'
Off I went.
I have noticed that this part of New Englnd is seriously lacking in bike lanes and sidewalks. It's quaint, wooded, beautiful, and full of homes that are way out of our price range, and you have to be careful that you don't get run over. In an effort to try to stay on what sidewalks there are I turned up a road called 'Rubbly Rd.' I chose this road because the name is incredibly endearing and it has a sidewalk. After about a quarter mile on Rubbly Rd. a sign for Indian Path Trail pointed off to the left. Indian Path Trail had a sidewalk and was enconsced in a park like setting. I took it, and hoped for something like trails or bike paths. I got a cemetary.
In the middle of the cemetary was a house. A lovely looking house, but a house. I kept waiting for someone to pop out from behind a headstone, perhaps a protective gardener or loved one of the dead, and yell,
"Hey, what are you doing here? I don't know where you're from but in these parts we walk in cemetaries!" I didn't decide if I would cower and slow down or just run faster and pretend like I couldn't hear him.
As I bounced around the paved loop that went through the resting place of the dead it occured to me that I may be the first person to listen to Lady Gaga on my ipod in a cemetary.
Anther detour in search of sidewalks led me up Pleasantvale Rd, where at the top of this particular cul-de-sac a well-dressed middle class woman was digging through garbage.
As I was approaching the end of the cul-de-sac I couldn't decide how to turn around. Should I skim the edge of the circle? Run up and tap the grass and turn around, as if I was in a pool? Since I didn't really decide in time I just did it and turned the stroller one-handed in a wide u-turn, wherein I think I flailed a bit and the brake of the stroller caught my ipod cord and sent the ipod flying. Deeper I sunk into the dorky bracket.
I kept running (saw another middle class white person digging through garbage, figure that one out) and eventually turned around when I hit a busy road. This time I just crossed the street, no awesome one-handed moves.
At the end of my run I was actually quite pleased despite cemetary encroachment and dorkiness, I had run for a long time, Emma had fallen asleep (she is sick and as much sleep as she can get the better), my run felt quite nice, and much of my morning had been taken up.
This may become a regular daily activity.