I am OLD
On Superbowl Sunday, I ran the Redondo Beach Superbowl 5K. Partly inspired by the marathon training running log of fellow LA Mom Blogger Losangelista but mostly I signed up because someone asked me to do it. My inability to say no aside, the race turned out to be a wake up call that my body has left the glory days of youth and will soon be put out to pasture unless I start doing something about it.
Since high school, running has been my chosen form of exercise. I was pretty crazy to run all around town anywhere I was on three continents and even ran the NYC Marathon one year. And with each year, even though I ran less and less, I was always able to whip my body into shape a few weeks prior to a road race and run a decent time. So even though I haven't run a road race in three years, I didn't think it would be any different this time. Well, in those three years I've had baby number two. I forgot the second baby ages you at least ten years. And, of course, I've been using taking care of the kids as an excuse not to exercise.
The agony started during the race. It seemed like I could never feel the pace, something that usually happens after 15-20 minutes. Instead, I felt like I was working hard throughout the entire race. And the photos from the event prove it--I was gasping for air with every step. But the real trouble didn't start until the next day. I was planning to go to the supermarket that Monday morning. The boys had a My Gym class at 12:15 and I wanted to get a lot of errands done beforehand. I couldn't move. Every bone and muscle in my body felt like I had been run over by a tractor trailer. I could barely get up to get them their morning milk. I don't even remember what, if anything, they ate for breakfast. It took me three hours to get out the door in order to go to the gym class. My legs were throbbing. And then, when I got there, walking as if I had just lost my virginity, I met the two moms who ran the race with me. They were completely fine and had even gotten up at 5:30 that morning to go to a spinning class. One of them asked me if I wanted to join the class. I couldn't make a coherent reply.
The next day, I somehow managed to get my older son H to preschool. Then it was back home while I lay on the floor for an hour while the younger one R watched Diego. I was jolted awake by what I thought was the sound of R's brain cells being turned to mush by television, but no, it was the Dish Network on the phone yet again with their special promotion. I always answer the phone right away when H is in preschool because I'm worried the school is calling to tell me that I have to pick him up. This has never happened, but still the paranoia gets me to answer the phone even when I can see from the caller ID that it is NOT the preschool. Awoken from my stupor, I take R outside and somehow manage to make it through the day.Continued on the next page