One of the hardest things about running in the winter – well, for me – is just getting outside. There are days when I just keep putting off venturing out into the cold until it only makes sense to wait until the next day when it is warmer – relatively speaking, of course.
Yesterday was one of those days. I woke up to a crisp ten below (in celcius) – 2o below if you factor in the windchill. So, despite my good intentions, running at 7:00 or 8:00 a.m. just didn’t interest me in the least. For the rest of the morning, I was tied up with chauffering duties and, in the mid-afternoon, #2 was in such a clingy mood that falling asleep with him when he went down for a nap was inevitable. By 5:30, after a day of catering to the boys’ needs, I resigned myself to running the next day.
While I was being the good mom who was making dinner for her family, Daddy announced that he didn’t want to eat much because he was playing hockey in a few hours.
“What?” I cried. “When did you decide this?”
“It’s long overdue.”
“You haven’t played hockey since this time last year and, suddenly, you’re going out tonight? What time? I want to run first.”
“Okay, when do you want to head out?”
In my moment of insanity, I had completely forgotten about both the time and the cold. But I was not about to give in. I was being given complete freedom to leave the boys for 45 minutes of peace and solitude. Who, in any frame of mind, would refuse that? But, the negotiations continued.
“Let me finish cooking dinner. And you need to bathe #2 when I’m out – including his hair.”
“Fine,” he agreed.
At that point, I was ready to call 911 and report that my husband’s body had been invaded by extra-terrestrials but I held back. Instead, I quickly finished cooking and headed out into the cold.
When I returned, #2 had had his bath (with hair washed) and Dave didn’t waste any time in heading out the door.
But, it didn’t matter. After all, I went first.