A little more junk in the trunk

Last night, Otter and Cricket accompanied me on my first postbaby run.  I should preface this by noting that running comes as easily to me as swimming comes to cats.  I sweat, I heave, I pant, I spit... Between my big ol' knockers and a mild case of exercise-induced asthma, running makes for an extremely challenging experience.  In short, it's not pretty.

I've always envied those cute little bouncy runner girls with no boobs and a perfectly-swinging ponytail.  You know the ones I mean, don't you?  The kind who know just where to put their hands so they look neither ducklike nor Neanderthal-esque while they jog.  The kind that can breathe quite fine, thank you, as they round out their fifth mile.  The kind whose sports bra matches her shorts matches her shoes matches her socks matches her iPod.  The kind that the average new mommy wants to slap a little.

I realized yesterday afternoon, after browsing at some old pictures of myself, that the time had come to shed the last of this baby weight, or as I've come to think of it, the Pudgebubble.  Although I have never been one who enjoys exercies (except maybe the after-dark kind), I definitely saw the merit in returning to my spandex.  As visions of being the "hot mom" quickly clouded my brain, and I almost became moderately excited about starting to run again.  I may have even considered purchasing new running shoes. 

After much thought about the appropriate motivation for shedding a few El-Bees, I decided that my goal should be to Look Halfway Decent At The Family Reunion.  This event, held anually for God knows how many years, is always held in Indianapolis, always the first weekend after Fourth of July, and always at someone's house who has a swimming pool.  I have not attended in at least 10 years, and the last time I can clearly recall being there, I was in the prime of my youth (read: legs for days, flat stomach, and no ass).  To say my appearance has changed since then is a gross understatement.  Although I know my family will love me regardless of how I look, I also cannot help but want to show up to a chorus of "Ooooh," "Aaaaah," and an incredulous "You just had a baby?!"

So, I hollered at Otter on my way home from work and informed him that we, yes both of us, were going to strap Cricket into the new Jeep jogging stroller, slap some shoes on, and go for a jog after work.  After sputtering in shock for a few seconds (as our normal nighttime routine typically involves a slow stroll, dinner, and some quality couch time), he agreed it was a great idea, and informed me he'd be home shortly.

Upon arriving at home, I dressed for my run as quickly as possible so I would not have the ability to lose my motivation.  Spandex shorts?  Check.  Ankle socks and running shoes?  Check.  Two sports bras to hold back the funbags?  Check.  I was ready to go.  Except now I tooootally didn't want to.  Nope, now I wanted to lay on the couch, eat Chinese food, and watch my DVR'd reruns of Will and Grace.  Then Otter came home, and I realized there was no way out.  After copious stretching and checking myself out in the mirror, I resigned myself to the fact that I was acutally going to attempt to do this, and walked outside.

As I trudged wearily to the edge of the yard, I ran through a million "how can I get out of this" scenarios in my mind: maybe I'll get lucky and my shoelace will break; maybe Otter will twist his ankle; maybe Cricket will start to fuss and we'll have to come home.  And then Otter said, "OK, your pace, your distance.  Let's do it," and my first postbaby run commenced.

And it wasn't half bad.

I made it for a consecutive 7 minutes, walked for about 7, then ran for another 7.  All in all, I would say the total distance was about a mile and a half.  Now, for most of you naturally gifted athletes out there, this seems like a joke.  For us big-boobed, out of shape new mommies, this is like completing a triathalon.  In a dress.  Backwards.

I was really proud of myself at the end of it, because I didn't wuss out.  I did something I didn't want to do, and I stuck with it.  I knew that if I kept up with this that I'd gradually begin to see some weight loss results, and I'd start feeling better too.  Because, when you think about it, being in a good mood is great, but if you have a nice ass to go with it, all is right in the world.