Today, Ricky decided that it would be a great idea to run to a park 3 miles away from our house. Now to some of you this may sound like a breeze, but to me it sounded like torture. You see, I am in no shape to run half a mile let alone 3. I have not worked out consistently in over 3 years, and I knew that once we'd run the 3 miles to the park, we'd have to run/ walk the 3 miles back to our house. Not to mention the two munchkins who would be in tow who would definitely not appreciate being confined that close to each other for the 3 hour time period that it would take me to do this. However, Ricky won this battle saying that I needed to not be such a wuss and that if I was serious about getting in shape that I should gladly accept this challenge. I gave in. At about mile 1 1/2, I became angry and bitter. My kids were whiny, we'd had to stop 5 times to break up their fights, my lungs were burning, my legs felt like jello, and I was very close to throwing a tantrum myself. I made sure to let Ricky know about 10 times how stupid this idea was (I know, bad wife). He kept encouraging me and telling me that we were almost there and I'd be happy that we did this later.
It is later...I hurt all over, and my voice is still scratchy from yelling at the kids so much to stop whining and keep their hands and teeth to themselves. I am glad it is over. The journey back was killer as my legs cramped the entire time and Noah felt the need to whine the WHOLE time. It got so bad that I threatened to leave him on the side of the road.
The picture above captures the torture of the whole experience perfectly...
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