New Year's Resolution

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I've been holding onto this post because I didn't want anyone to know what my New Year's Resolutions were. Why? I didn't want anyone to hold me accountable.

But I'm finally ready to share.

I want to run 3 5Ks this year.

There are a few problems with this... one, we are going to start trying for Baby #4 in May/June (and then we are CLOSING UP SHOP!). But this means that I will be, hopefully, pregnant in July. Which means I have about 9 months to get these 3 5 K's run.

Two, the last time I ran was before BabyGirlie was born. So, you know, about 18 months ago.

Third, I hate running. I believe I have mentioned this before.

But I refused to let these three things get in the way of my resolution. Thus, last week, I went to the gym for the first time since Thanksgiving to pick up the training I had started in October.

Why a two month gym absence, you may be wondering.

Several reasons. Girlie, Boyo, and BabyGirlie, to name a few. Children have a wonderful ability to ruin your plans. They throw tantrums. They whine. They get sick for a month and the gym gets snooty when you try to put a sick child in daycare.

Another reason is that I threw out my back -- couldn't move for 24 hours, and then couldn't bend for another two weeks. So that sucked.

Oh, and another reason: Work.

But finally, last week, I got my act together. I created a new playlist on my iPod, packed a bottle of water and a towel, and cheerfully booted all 3 kids into the gym daycare. Then I climbed up on the treadmill, set it for the settings that I was running at 18 months ago, and ran for three miles.

Did you catch that? I set it for the settings that I was running at 18 months ago. There was no inner voice saying, "Hey, Shannon, maybe we should tone it down abit? After all, it's been 18 months since you last ran at this pace, and two months since you have done more than physical therapy or yoga." I think my inner voice was too busy laughing at my stupidity to speak up.

Holy Cheeseballs, Batman.

At the end of my 40 minutes, I nearly sank to the floor. I could barely walk. I considered crawling over to the day care to get my children. But pride won out, and I hobbled over to claim them. I even resisted asking the 4 year old for a piggy back ride.

So I decided to blog about my New Year's Resolution because someone is going to have to hold me accountable.

I Hate Running

Actually, I'm not sure hate is the right word.

You know when you are a kid, and you say, "I hate my sister/brother/friend/teacher/parent," and your parents tell you, "Honey, hate is a strong word. You don't mean hate." And then they make you substitute hate for something else - dislike, despise, resent - so you grow up thinking that hate is a bad word that you shouldn't use for anything? Well, in my case, hate is not strong enough. But until they make a word stronger than hate, all I can say is: I HATE running.

I would WALK out of my house if it was on fire. My dad used to say that I was the only person he knew that could swim faster than she could walk. And for one horrible season, when my mom made me join the track team, I opted for the long jump as my event because that was the shortest amount of running I could get away with.

In fact, when I think of running, I remember a quote I once heard. "Life is short ... running makes it seem longer" (Baron Hansen). I know there is a great inspirational message here, but I just can't see it that way - I see the quote as "Life is short - don't torture yourself by running."

The reason I bring this up is that a friend of mine talked me into running an 8K with her. Big deal, you might be thinking. 4.97 measly miles. So what?

I have never run further than 50 yards without stopping to gasp for water and fall down.

Still, my friend and I are determined to lose weight and get in shape (pregnancy has the annoying side effect of making you lose your shape). And I mentioned that maybe we should do a 5K to help us stay motivated. I sure as hell didn't mean we should run the damn thing - I thought maybe we could walk it. I was even willing to walk fast.

But she found an 8K at the end of February, and she mapped out a strategy for us in terms of training. I said sure before I found out that her strategy involved us running. Still, I knew she was right and I grudgingly agreed. (I'm still bitching though - it's a matter of principle now.)

So we started our training - our goal is to hit the gym 3 to 4 times a week. And some weeks we do better than others, which isn't bad given how busy the two of us are. And last week, I surpassed my previous record by a mile: I ran 1.57 miles without stopping once. I might have been able to go further, but I didn't want to.

For the first time, I began to believe that I could do this, that running this 8K is an attainable goal. And every time I make it to the gym, I feel proud of myself for accomplishing something, and I feel better about myself in terms of my body image, too. Perhaps most importantly, I am not as stressed as I was before. Still just as tired, but not as stressed.

At the end of the day, do I like running? Hell, no. But it is a means to an end, so it's something I will do. The new motto I have for running seems to sum it up perfectly: "Run like hell and get the agony over with" (Clarence DeMar).