When M tries to push me, I always think, “He probably has more faith in me than I do. I can do whatever he’s suggesting. If he thinks I can, why not?”
Monday night, I totally should have ignored him & did what my body was telling me.
Because it’s not that it was telling me not to run. I wanted to run. But I knew I shouldn’t push it. I knew I should just do one of the easier days, maybe a bit faster than usual, but easier than pushing myself to do a new day of the week I’m on.
I quit at a mile. Literally stopped in the middle of a run, turned the treadmill off, & hobbled upstairs. I felt like I was going to die on my couch. And then when M asked me what he could do, all I could wheeze out was that I wanted him to start the tub for me. My legs actually ached that badly. And then were still aching when I got out of the tub, but they didn’t keep me from falling asleep. And they were fine yesterday. And today. And then I got on the treadmill again, and I swear if my legs could talk, they’d be all, “The HECK are you doing to us, lady? Stop it. Right now.”
The thing is, I’ve noticed a change in myself. Not just that I’ve lost weight [I have; thank you, 21 days of fasting & prayer], but I’m calmer. I’m nicer to my children. I’m not as cranky in general. Last night, half an hour before bed, I got really cranky. When M asked me what was wrong [for the 10850371560128740918058 time] I finally figured out that it was maybe because I hadn’t worked out.
I like me better when I run. I’m pretty sure my family does, too.
But if you need me tonight? I’ll be in the tub again, soaking my aching legs.