I am not going to pretend that I am one of those weird people who like to exercise.
Especially those super weird people who like it so much that they will go out and run by themselves with no music.
That isn't me.
Those people are rad.
I hate, hate, hate, to be sweaty or hot, or exercising while doing those things. Especially alone. Hatey hate hate.
That's why I was a swimmer all my life. It's hard to be sweaty and hot in a cold pool.
But you can't swim with a stroller full of children who can't swim.
In spite of all of that, I set a goal of making my feet move 40 miles this month.
I roped in a friend to meet me for our stroller adventures. Why we finally decided to start now, now when it is hot and sweaty outside, and our big kids are about to get out of school for the summer? Who knows.
But we are doing it. MyFitnessPal is making us. Because if we don't exercise we are starving. Starving is right up there with the hating of being hot and being sweaty.
Today she couldn't go.
Did I still want to?
Remember the whole hating exercise thing?
Exercise alone times fifty more hates.
But stubborn me has a dumb goal.
I sent a quick text to my legit runner friends for music recommendations.
My boyfriend Dave Matthews and his sixteen minute jam sessions is not a good running partner.
Justin, Britney, and Pitbull were involved.
I love seeing other people's playlists.
I spent an iTunes giftcard, happily on teenager music. No judgement.
Went to sync my phone.
Decided Pandora would accompany me instead.
The Justin Bieber station, actually.
Again, no judgement.
Picked a route that wouldn't let me quit part way and turn around. A route with a brutal hill at the beginning.
These British boys started me off.
The hill seemed much worse than I ever remember it.
But I just looked at the ground and pushed harder.
At the top of the hill I noticed a bad noise.
A oh-no-it-isn't noise.
Flat freaking tire. Yep.
The tires that just got air put in them this weekend.
ARE YOU KIDDING ME?????
Back down the hill.
With eleven billion pounds of stroller and carseat and baby and toddler on a flat tire.
Get my wallet.
Drive to the bike shop.
Get a new tube installed in my tire.
(Side note- I had NO CLUE how expensive bikes could be. Used car expensive. So glad that isn't my hobby. Dang.)
Drive back to where I started 45 minutes ago.
Push up the horrid hill AGAIN, except now it is way later and way hotter and I am way sweatier.
Like it for a bit.
Hate it for way more than a bit.
Run for a bit.
Die for a bit.
Walk for a lot of bits.
Except now the Justin Bieber station is bugging bad. Way too much Katy Perry, and Demi Lovato. Way too much. Switch to the Pitbull station. No judgement.
Just when I want to totally quit beyond all quitting, the boots with the furrrrrrr comes on.
Thank you Pandora. Thank you.
20.9 miles down.
19.1 miles to go.
Like a boss.