Why short women should never run with tall men!

My husband had an idea this weekend! A Terrible, Awful, Idea! He thought it would be great if we started running together!

First of all, we are not the “Athletic” types. We like to watch sporting events, but we do not participate in them, Ever! My husband’s idea of physical activity is lifting his hand to his mouth while eating and doing thumb pushups while channel surfing. My idea of an Ironwoman Competition is changing at least 15 diapers, completing 10 loads of laundry, preparing three, three course meals and two snacks while preventing small children from sustaining bodily harm all in 16 hour time frame. So, my husband should not have been surprised in the least when my first reaction to his idea was a “Huh?”. Then a “Seriously.”. Then a “Why not?”.

Why not run with my husband? I still have a few pounds I need to shed from baby #2, and after trying on a pair of capris from last summer, I could afford to drop more than a “few” pounds. I felt like Roseanne Barr in a tube top and Daisy Dukes, or Fat Albert in a Camisole and Skinny Jeans. Okay, I exaggerated a little, but you get the picture. Who knows, I may actually enjoy doing something “Healthy”. Maybe?

For my husband, I laced up my running shoes and vowed to keep up with him. I started out strong, but we started out slow. We where side by side, neck and neck. I could feel the sun on my face and the wind whipping thru my hair. We kicked it up a notch. I liked the way I felt; heart racing and adrenaline pumping. I thought, “I can do this! No problem. I can keep up.”

My husband looks over at me and says, “Let’s go!”. What? I have been going, going as fast as my little legs will run. Apparently he had been briskly walking and I had been running to stay up with him. Did I mention that I am only 5′ 4″ and my husband is over six feet. He’s almost a foot taller than me. Really? What did I expect? Short, horribly out of shape, women should never run with tall men, who engage in hard manual labor for a living. Ugh! I should have just sat down and quit, but I’m not a quitter! I can keep up, I can! I can! I can!

Just as I had convinced myself to keep going. I had spotted my husband. He was so far ahead of me, I couldn’t even be sure it was him. I dug deep, took a deep breath and kicked it up another notch. I was going strong again, and then my shins started to burn. Then I started getting harrowing stabbing pains in my side, but I kept going. Oh, Crap! I swallowed a bug! Hack! Hack! Oh, no! My pony tail is falling down! I think something just took a hunk out of my leg. What was that, World’s largest Mosquito? What if it had the West Nile virus? I wonder how much longer my husband will do this? Is he not in pain, like me? He can’t really enjoy this pure, unadulterated, torture! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!

I spot him! He’s slowing down. I really hope he hasn’t been watching me. I know he is going to rub this in or go all military on me. I can just hear him yell, “Keep up, Sizemore, or drop and give me twenty!”. Instead he says, “What’s wrong? Can’t you keep up?”. I can’t believe he just asked me that! “Yes, I can keep up! I have just been holding back for your sake,” I laugh. “You know, I wanted us to run “TO-GE-THER.”. If he hadn’t have said it in a condescending manner, I would have thought he was being sweet! I did not have long to steam over his backhanded jabs when once again he took off, and so did I.

I was determined to keep up. I wanted to slow down, when he slowed down. I wanted to stop, when he stopped, but it was not going to happen. His was widening the gap between us and regardless of how hard I pushed myself I could not keep up. I gave it my all, but I still came in last! My ego was damaged but not unrepairable. So What if I couldn’t keep up! I tried and I did not quit! Even if it was from a distance I still slowed down and stopped when he did! Next time, we will run together. I will ask for a astronomical head start or refuse to run with people who have elongated limbs!

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