I wake up late, with our youngest tucked under my arm. She’d snuggled in while I was still dreaming, and this comfortable cuddle makes it hard to leave our down comforter. I think, I could stay like this all day.
I drag my feet in flannel pajamas, eat chocolate chips and sip black, strong coffee for too long it becomes no longer morning, no longer productive.
Darn it’s not pouring with 30 mph winds, I think and am angry about not having a good excuse to miss my training run.
I text my bestest, first island mama friend, I’m slothy and eating chocolate chips. It’s almost noon. Where should I run six miles?
I’lll be there soon, she writes.
Sometimes I’m not lucky enough to share the pavement with a pal.
Sometimes I need to rely on my own urging and run through all the thoughts in my head before I can take a first step.
This whole running thing is new(ish) to me, and
sometimes I’m not happy I am running but rather happier to have run at all.
I wrote about a run you’ll never believe I took in my Today’s Mama column.
Run Like a Mama
Around here, snow comes slow and seldom. For a few days a year life stalls with a thick blanket tucked in at our island’s shoreline. It interrupts routines and creates new ones, like sledding and icicle collecting.
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