Saturday morning, I got up at 5:00 AM (not much of a sacrifice as I had been wide awake since 3:00), dug out my running clothes, dusted off my cheap Target sneakers which are nothing fancy but also never broke my foot, fetched Owen and got him back to sleep snuggled next to Chris, plugged in the much-neglected treadmill, jacked up the volume on my iPod, and ran two miles.
Two very slow miles, to be sure. Almost 30 minutes. The last time I ran, I could do a 5k in under 30 minutes, but the last time I ran was also mid-March, after which I decided that my foot hurt badly enough that I should stop running and start making appointments with orthopedists. So I was slow, on purpose, but I only stopped because I had to get Mia up for her swim meet, and I was grinning and (I cringe to admit) boogeying to Lady Gaga the entire time.
I sort of love running, and I have missed it. I am a happier person when I move hard enough to sweat like a pig 30 minutes a day. I love my (cheap, also from Target) running clothes. I love getting to pick the music without having to listen to complaints. I love not hearing "MOMMY!" even once the entire time. I'm waiting a couple of days to try it again, just to make sure my screwed up foot doesn't start feeling screwed up again, but I think maybe I'm going to get running back, and I'm thrilled about it.