I don't mind the short work trips at all, believe me I'll take that over 2011, it's just that I can't sleep without him here. The house is way too Nightmare on Elm Street: hissing boa constrictor toilets, freezer dropping grenade ice bombs audible from the upstairs, and the RCA twins cocking their heads at phantom things I strain to hear too.
I'm so glad he's home. We all slept like puppies last night.
Good thing too because my trainer completely put us through our paces at the gym today. She is a woman who is not afraid to push us to our anaerobic limits to show us how stamina is built. I love her for it afterward but want to throw up on her running shoes during.
After some weight work and calisthenics during what she affectionately refers to as "Boot Camp," my workout partner and I thought we were finished.
"Okay, now let's get to work," says our
Umm, work? Were the twelve thousand lunges with weights at our sides a staff meeting?
Apparently they were.
The next 25 minutes reminded me of labor. Not so much the pain part, pain I can sort out, just the panicky-sheet-pulling-not-sure-you-can-get-to-the-end-by-yourself part of it all.
At one point, I grunted, "Buhhhhh!" and the gentleman one treadmill over shot me the worry face. He didn't know I was channeling warrior spirit. Or maybe he did. Regardless, this little House Frau ran the fastest she's ever gone before.
6.7 mph, you guys!
My pushing pace was once 4.5. 6.7 is so far away from my comfortable pace that I can't believe I did it. I'm known to my marathoner friend as the tortoise of joggers. I'm a slogger and before today never considered myself a runner. Runners have three lungs, visible quad muscles, and blisters for baby toes. Runners aren't moms with perma-muffin tops wearing their son's Puma socks.
Except they are.
Runners are those moms wearing Puma socks who have lost two inches from their hip section and one and half inch from their thighs in 10 weeks of training.
Moms are amazing, strong, resilient, endorphin junkies able to push ourselves past the limits we originally thought we had.
We can do 6.7 when someone expects us to.
And now that I know this, I'm pushing for 8.0.
(Maybe because I look at this every morning before leaving the house.)