Disillusionment and Desperation

I am so incredibly out of shape. No, really, this is serious. It's so serious that I'm considering taking up jogging - tonight. Anyone who really knows me, knows just how serious this would have to be for me to even CONSIDER such a rash and reckless step.

I have never liked "jogging" as a form of exercise. I love to play sports with a purpose, but running???? Just to run??? Yuck. Humiliation. My um, "girls" bouncing all over the place for passersby to observe.

This last is what originally turned me off from any sport requiring solo running, i.e. softball, cross country, and track. I was rather well endowed when I was in high school (thankfully, I consider myself normal after the four children), and any running event (or non-running event if we're going to be totally candid) got my assets WAY too much attention from the hormone beast also known as the "high school boy". A t-shirt that said "Hellooo, we aren't her eyes" would have been helpful.

Anyhow, back to running. Or not running, which is where I think I actually was. When I was in college, one of my roomates convinced me that running would be fun. I went right out and purchased a pair of running shoes. I was determined to finally get over my issues and give this popular form of exercise a chance.

Just to be safe, however, I always ran at night.

And I hated every minute of it.

Nothing but me, the darkness, and that stupid bush/tree/whatever I was attempting to run to before I started walking again. Can I just say BORING!! Nothing to think about but how long I'd been jogging, and how much further I should force myself to go. The worst thing? Back then I was actually in pretty decent shape. Puffing and wheezing were not my problem. Aching, burning legs that shake when you stop? Nope, the mental game alone was enough to make me tired.

And now I'm considering giving it another try.

And I'm adding in the puffing/wheezing/burning legs, because they will definitely play a MAJOR roll this time around. Which brings me to the catalyst for this desperate move. Tonight I played a very small, harmless, never-moved-beyond-the-three-point-line, game of basketball. One on one. Kelly, this was nothing to your full-court experience. This can only be classed as Truly Pathetic.

Unlike jogging, I love to play basketball. There's no boredom in basketball. (And there's way too much going on for the "girls" to be the center of attention). Tonight, however, was worse than pathetic.

There's me, barely moving around the court, sensing from the start that I must conserve every ounce of energy to finish the game. We were playing to seven.

There's my opponent, young, strong, over six feet tall, and fresh off the Marine Corp base where he takes daily runs in the desert in full gear with a thirty lb pack on his back.

You may be asking yourself why a burned out mother of four would take on such an opponent. I have no answer for you. Insanity? Derangement? COMPLETE disillusionment? That one was obviously a big player. Back when he was in high school, and I wasn't quite so far from my prime, we used to have these little games all the time. That was when running from the baseline to the three point line didn't feel like a long distant sprint.

So now, here I am, facing the cold hard truth. I may occasionally exercise. I may even use weights now and then. I may like to think that I'm in decent shape, and that I can "keep up" if I have to. Newsflash: I couldn't keep up with an old guy in a nursing home. If I ever want to play a decent game of basketball again, I need to do something desperate. Jogging is desperate. So that's what I'm going to do. I start tonight when the boys and Rusty get back from fishing. I should feel right at home, because it will be dark. My only concern will be making it back before suffering from cardiac arrest.

The good news? I will be so amazingly in shape when Dallin returns, that I will fearlessly challenge him to a rematch. Watch out Dallin, this is one mom who refuses to sit by while all her muscles atrophy into jello. When you get back, I will be ready for you. (But you still can't stuff my shots unless I stuff yours. After all, I'm not totally delusional.)