Running

Mom bought me a jogging stroller before I had the kidlet.  I was really into running before I got pregnant, then I got pregnant and stopped, then...

used the kid as an excuse to avoid all physical activity.

Even though I weigh the same as I did pre-pregnancy, I'm unhappy with my newly misshapen body.  Rather than sit around and complain (even though I'm awesome at it), I decided it was time to dust off the jogging stroller and take up running again.

I've never used a jogging stroller but assumed any idiot can figure out how to use one right?

I started lightly jogging down a hill.  "This is so easy!  Who knew it would come back so fast?!?" I thought to myself.

As I reached the bottom of the steep hill, I realized... um.  I can't stop.

Turns out, I wasn't so much running as being dragged by the jogging stroller... and the end of the street was coming fast.

"AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"  I screamed running out of control. 

"AHHHHHH.  HEEEAHHHH!" Cash screamed with joy.

I slammed my feet to the concrete and pinched the brakes (I no longer wondered why they were there at this point) and slid to the edge of the sidewalk.  I heard the air escape Cash's lungs as his body slammed against the  5-point harness... then I heard him erupt with laughter.  Glad he thinks this is funny.

Taking a few deep breaths to regain my composure, I tried to turn toward the walking trail.  I discover the front tire doesn't move... at all.  A friendly passing jogging mother informs me the front tire on jogging strollers doesn't move to prevent you from hitting a rock and falling.

I don't run that fast so this stationery tire thing is hardly necessary.  It only prevents me from being able to turn which is NOT helpful considering this is my trail...

Unwilling to give up, I run straight.  Bouncing between sidewalk and grass, I discovered two more problems.  First, our dear Lord didn't bless me with a lot in the chestal area.  Sports bras have always been more decorative than functional.  Things have changed a lot since my body morphed.   I was wishing I had a bra way more functional and way less decorative. 

The second problem?  My post pregnancy bladder.

I'll leave it at that.

I powered through an hour and arrived home a sweaty, smelly, heaving mess.  Hubby was puttering around the garage, drinking a high calorie beer, enjoying every sip.  He didn't gain an ounce during my pregnancy and hasn't had to worry about losing anything.

I have no doubt God is a man.  Because if God were a woman, I'd weight 110 pounds and could drink a Guinness while my fat husband fought the jogging stroller.