I got up this morning, determined to do it. I was going to go for a walk. And to go for a walk EVERY MORNING FROM NOW ON.
You see, I talked to my friend, Sarah, last night. She has two children almost the exact same age as mine. And she is doing a half marathon this weekend.
I’ll pause and let that sink in for a moment.
I was positively pea green. Not just that she can, you know, run for any distance at all but also that she made the time for herself. I thought to myself: That’s it. I’m taking some time.
Because the truth is that having tiny children can be physically exhausting. And I sometimes forget to eat. And when I do it, it’s hardly nutritious. And I feel so fat and tired some days that I am thankful that all of my hobbies – like reading and writing and knitting – involve sitting on my rear end.
By the time, I went to bed that night, I was excited. After all, I was going to get up every morning to go for a walk in Queen’s Park! I was going to get up before the tinies and take the morning thirty minutes for myself! And then, somehow, this was going to melt off the reluctant 15 lbs I can’t seem to lose (read: won’t actually do anything to lose) and even firm my abs! My abs! I was going to be tan and svelte! I was going to be peaceful and centred all day because I had my 30 minute walk in the morning! I was going to pray the entire time! I was going to enjoy nature! I was going to be all Michelle Obama and set the example for my children that sanity for a mother is important!
Oh, I had me some plans.
So this morning, I woke up at 6:30. I looked over Joseph to Brian and said “I think I’ll go for a walk this morning.” Bless him, he didn’t even blink in surprise. Just said “be back by 7:30 so I can get to work, babe.” And then rolled over with Joseph.
I put on my runners and my yoga pants. I grabbed my sports bra which I have had since I had to collect aerobic points at ORU. We’re talkin’ a ten year old sports bra pre-tinies-and-breastfeeding here. And away I went.
As I hit the stairs outside of our building, I was jubilant. The birds were singing! The day was cool! I was going to get skinny! I was going to have time to reflect and pray before the day started!
And then I fell down the entire flight of cement stairs.
Whump! Thump! Ouch! Ow! DAMMIT! DAMMIT! DAMMIT!
By the time, I landed at the bottom, I was convinced every bone in my body was broken. I sat in defeat on the stairs and mournfully inspected my limbs. Huge scrapes on my forearms. Chunks of skin hanging off my calves. Blood pooling in my socks.
No! I thought! Not today! I will not be stopped! I will DO THIS!
It was very moving.
Maybe Kate Winslet could play me in the movie.
I gingerly stepped on my feet, testing my ankles. They were sore and twisted but I could manage a slow walk. And I slowly walked and limped over to the park, determined to recapture my moment.
I walked around the park. I tried to focus. I prayed …. a bit. It went something like “Oh, Father….it’s so good to be here with you…wait, is that dog off his leash? I HATE WHEN DOGS ARE OFF THEIR LEASH! Can they smell blood? Honestly. People can be so…..wait….where was I? Oh, Yes. Jesus. So. I am seeking you this morning, Papa. My soul is yearning for you still….Okaaaaaaay….someone over there needs to put a bra on!….” And so on. My mind and heart were like a pack of 3 year olds at a birthday party post-cake-and-ice-cream-and-chocolate-and-a-clown-and-a-petting-zoo.
As I rounded the last side of the park, I heard a crow start to scream.
I hate crows.
This crow was screaming at me.
It followed me for a few moments, screaming and flapping from the enormous evergreens along the path.
And then it swooped.
Zooooooooooooooooom! just past my head. I shrieked and clapped my hands on my head.
DAMMIT!
The crow kept screaming. I looked up and couldn’t see a nest anywhere. What the heck?
And then it did it again.
WHUMP!
AND THAT CROW BODY SLAMMED ME ON THE HEAD!
I stumbled forward and landed on my damaged knees. The crow was coming at me again and I hurriedly crawled and heaved myself across the street. The crow followed me. I tried to jog. My sports bra protested. My ankle was screaming at me. I half-dragged, half-walked myself down the street away from the homicidal fowl and made it home.
I walked in the door and Brian took one look at me – bleeding from every limb, scraped, limping, hair askew from being whumped by a mean bird – and said mildly “How did it go?”
FAN-tastic.
