Memoirs of a Mama: July 2013

23 July 2013

I slip them on my feet and tie up the laces. I realize as I tie that I am reciting a little rhyme in my head. "Bunny ears, bunny ears, playing by a tree. Criss-crossed the tree trying to catch me. Bunny ears, bunny ears, jumped into the hole, popped out the other side beautiful and bold."

I can't remember the last time I wore shoes with laces regularly.

I head outside into the heat. Looking back over my shoulder I can see my husband watching me from the kitchen window. He thinks I'm crazy. It is hot and humid, not an ideal combination. I take a deep breath but the air is wet and heavy. Without taking too much time to think, and risking the possibility of heading back into the air conditioning, I take off.

It has been years since I have willingly done this and I am unsure of my movements at first. I feel awkward on my own feet. Worried that every neighbor has decided to look out their front windows, simultaneously at this very moment, I become self conscience. Is it obvious I do not do this regularly? Am I doing this right? Is there a even a right way to do this?

I have ear phones on and can hear a voice telling me that my warm up is over and it is time to begin. Begin? I've already been out here for five minutes and now you want to begin? I follow the directions being spoken into my ear and spend the next twenty minutes alternating between a brisk walk and running.

My face is on fire. With each step that I take I can feel the muscles in my legs yelling at me. I am taking in deep breaths of thick air but feel like I cannot fill up my lungs. My chest burns. My mind is telling me to keep going but my body is saying that I am an idiot.

As a distraction I begin listening to the rhythm of my breathing. My mind wanders. Thinking about me, Steve, the kids, the weight, the new found need to exercise. I realize I am out here by myself. Autumn isn't asking for another cup of milk. Nate isn't crying because his teething is irritating him. I am not cooking or cleaning or looking at what I need to cook or clean. I am alone, with my own thoughts, and all of a sudden it doesn't hurt as much.

As I round the corner, I can see my driveway. I have never been so happy to see that section of white concrete. With a thud I sit and breathe until I can feel my pounding heart beginning to calm. I am alive. I slide my shoes off and instead of throwing them back into my closet, sure to never pull them out again, I place them where I will easily be able to find them.

Until next time, and there will be a next time.