Marymine went on a personal mission seven months ago to improve her health and get in shape. She has worked hard to make it happen. Three days a week she works out with a no mercy personal trainer, and the rest of the time on her own. Not an easy thing for a very busy mother of four, who always puts everyone else first, but she has prevailed.
She called the other day to tell me she had signed us up for a 5K (whatever the heck that is) in March.
"Who is us?" I asked.
"You and me, mom!" she said.
I choked on my coffee...
She said, "Mom, you get to wear a sparkly green shirt."
I choked on my doughnut...
"You get to wear a tutu, Mom!"
I choked on a chocolate kiss...
"It'll be fun, Mom," she said.
I choked on my last bonbon...
"You don't have to run it Mom, You can walk it."
I choked on my indignation...
"I'm all in, and screw the walking, I'm running. I'm 69, not dead!" I laughingly said.
I choked on my last bonbon...
"You don't have to run it Mom, You can walk it."
I choked on my indignation...
"I'm all in, and screw the walking, I'm running. I'm 69, not dead!" I laughingly said.
So, in order to salvage a bit of my foolish pride, I have gone into training, with Willie as my personal running partner. We head out early mornings in a manner befitting berserkers. Willie wearing his mangy hide, and I wearing my Sacred Heart rummage sale running shoes, holy yoga leggings, a Cabela's tee under a Coeur d'Alene rugged issue sweatshirt, and a BEEF is Best ball cap.
I'm already dreaming of burning the tutu while drinking a Guinness at the end of the 5K.
