The boys were off school yesterday. After a few hours of playing, being TOO loud, and jumping on the furniture, it was time to burn some energy. So we headed to the club… a place where I can get some ME time and they can get some KID time. Win. Win.
I dropped the kids off in the “kid’s club” (daycare) and went into the locker room to drop off my stuff. As I was standing filling my water bottle, I looked up to the TV and saw the disaster at the Boston Marathon unfolding. Heart-wrenching. With a very heavy heart, I sat and stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity before heading up to the treadmill.
My thoughts raced from fear, sadness, anger, and confusion…
Part of me wanted to run back into the daycare and give my kids a squeeze.
Part of me wanted to turn back home.
Part of me wanted to run for hours.
Mostly, I just felt extremely sad. Confused.
I finally made my way up to the treadmills and plunked myself in front of a TV.
I haven’t been running lately- so I just wanted to get these legs moving, running again.
I had a plan of walk 2 minutes and run 8 minutes until I couldn’t anymore.
That is what I did. For 40 minutes.
Engrossed in the coverage of the race.
Part of me wanted to run farther, for them, but I also knew that all too familiar tightening in my left thigh was creeping in, and I do NOT want to get injured right now. Ever really.