Thursday, May 1, 2008
She’s walking down the hill in tight black pants; you can see every curve, every dimple. She’s had three children and it shows. One child is nestled in the jogging stroller weighing it down. She loses her footing and skids on gravel then regains control. She continues towards the trail. She is going to start her training. She is going to run.
The child kicks her feet and waves her hands, a prepubescent coxon yelling “Run, Mommy Run!” Then, “Stop Mommy Stop! Are there bucks here? Will they get us?”
Mommy replies with a huff and a pant.
Baby pips back in “Run, Mommy, Run!” deer already forgotten.
And Mommy runs. She runs and runs until she can run no longer. Mommy walks then runs some more. Her ankle is sore. Her chin, an asthmatic indicator, begins to itch. Yet her heart is holding strong. Mommy has a long way to go.
Tomorrow Mommy plans to swim. How many laps can she do? She doesn’t know. Fifty is the magic number. Fifty consecutive laps and you’re golden. No sweat. How many was she swimming last summer?
And so begins the journey of this slow fat triathlete, doing what she wants in the body she has now.
Here’s to having a body that may be fat and may be slow but will take me where I need to go. Happy Love Thursday!