That's how I imagined jogging would be as I stood in line in Babies-R-Us, wondering what my husband would say when he saw this new, bigger, more expensive double jogging stroller ("You paid HOW much??? And why do we need another stroller??"). I am going to be a runner! My children will love it! We will run in the park! It's going to be great!
We generally start off all rainbows and butterflies. The girls quietly take in the scenery, sipping milk happily from their sippy cups. Occasionally, my oldest points out a dog. "Hi, dog!" I find my rhythm easily and jog along to my music (my pimped out stroller has speakers, home slice!). The birds. The breeze. The trees. The music.
Enter Mile Two. It's usually when Beyonce starts singing about "All the Single Ladies." The sippy cups are empty. The first round of toys have become boring, there is a shift in the universe, and things deteriorate quickly.
I'm a four-ish miler (wimp). So, we're talkin' about the middle of my run, when the pace is faster and I have to do a little mental digging. My breathing is heavier. Talking is more difficult. I can speak, but it comes out tense and breathless, a sentence or two at a time. I try to reason with them. "Mommy needs two more miles." Breathe. Breathe. "Can you be patient and sing a song for Mommy?" Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
That never works. My two-year old can't reason, and the one-year old CERTAINLY doesn't understand. More whining. Beyonce swears she's not that kind of girl. I wonder just how much longer I've got to listen to this, and reach for my phone. I fumble with it, running awkwardly now, with one hand on the handles of the stroller, phone in the other, cussing technology that never just works the way I need it to work when my kids start screaming, finally getting my running GPS app to open. 1.75 miles to go. Ugh. I can't handle that much longer with the whining. I hit the "pause workout" button.
"Mommy knows it's hard to sit still for a long time. Let's find you something different to play with." I'm breathing hard as I bend over to reach the under-the-seat baskets. Two books. That works. "Here you go."
And then, we're off again. I skip to the next song because Beyonce just doesn't motivate me enough, and then my Amazon Cloud Player forces closed and the music stops all together. Frustration rising.
"Mommy, I want music, Mommy. No, no, nooooo!"
"Mommy is working on it." A string of four letter words rest on the tip of my tongue. I purse my lips and swallow them back down. Ok. Music fixed. Running again.
I'm talking to myself at this point. Just hurry up and finish. You got this. Pick up the pace. Go. Go. Go. And then, Amelia throws her book over the side of the stroller and starts screaming.
Ugh. Stop. Pick up the book. Try to give it back. She screams more and waves her hands back and forth in protest. Fine. No book for you if you want to act that way. I'm the Book Nazi. Push off again, a little more violently than I anticipated, but running none the less.
I have no idea what song is playing because the youngest is screaming and it drowns out all other sound. I can't hear the voice in my head. All I can hear is screaming.
Could an elite runner mentally handle running like this?
I slow to a jog, reach under the stroller while still running, and grab the first toy I find. Youngest finds it momentarily acceptable. Phew. Thank you. I can hear again.
"No, no, no, Amelia! That's MINE'S!" Well, that didn't last long. Youngest is again screaming. I reach over the sun canopies and grab said toy from the oldest and hand it back to the youngest. She stops crying. The oldest fiercely protests.
"No, no, no, Mommy! I want the duuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!" Oh my god. How much farther do I have to listen to this. Why can't I just get a run in silence? Do they make portable DVD players that I can mount to the snack trays? What if I just put in my headphones? Would that make me a horrible mother? "I want the DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" .75 miles to go.
"Virginia." Breathe. Breathe. "Mommy's almost done." Breathe. Breathe. "I need you to," breathe, breathe, "be a good girl," breathe, breathe, "and sing some songs for Mommy." Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
"I want the duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck." And she takes it from her sister. And this time I let her keep it. And I'm angry. And I'm tired. And I'm drenched in sweat. And I'm pushing fifty pounds of kid in fifty pounds stroller and they're screaming and the sweat is dripping into my eyes and it stings and this sucks and why don't I just get up at 5 am and run before they wake up?
And now, I'm passing a woman with her brown lab. She stares as I huff past. I know, lady. I know how this must look to you. But, I'm running and you're just walking so who's the tougher one here? She pulls her dog away from us, even though she's on the other side of the street. I must look some kinda crazy.
We round the corner and are chugging/jogging/clomping back to the house. "Aaaaaalllll done," says my eldest. Almost, baby. Almost. Just let me do the last quater mile without having to talk to you, because I just don't have the energy to do both right now.
And then, it's over. I slow to a walk. "Aaaaaaaaall done," she says again. We pull into our yard. I stop the stroller. I pace around the yard. I'm thinking, "We made it. I did it. Why does it always have to be like that?" I turn around to walk back towards the girls.
"Yaaaaaaaaaay, Mommy! Great job, Mommy! Want me get down help you stretch, Mommy?" Amelia smiles and bounces up and down and claps her hands as Virginia screams my congratulations. It all melts away.
I just ran four miles with my girls and they're cheering for me. Cause I'm a bad mother runner.
Oh my God, I LOVE this post...thank you thank you thank you for the motivation!
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