You Never Know

My baby turned 7 yesterday. I can't believe that it's been 7 years since I popped out my last kid. I wonder if I would have appreciated the experience more if I would have known it was the last time I would go through the wonderfully horrendous experience we call labor? I wonder if I would have appreciated the late night feedings, diaper changes and other baby events more if I would have known that every one of them brought me closer to the end of that era in my life?

Who's to say? I do know, though, that about 3 years ago, I discovered that Doug was the end of the line and since then, I've been in much less of a hurry for him to grow up. Now every event with him seems somehow more significant to me. It's a good thing that he's such a great kid-- I could really spoil him rotten if he wasn't.

Brings me to the next subject, in a round about way-- how you never know what's coming at you from minute to minute. You might think that you've got it all figured out, and then life throws you a curve ball.

Let's say that you woke up one Thursday morning, went to your Spin class, went to work (with a shower in between there, of course), helped in your kids' classes, went to the grocery store, then walked in your house with the intent of running to see the lady that you visit teach really fast before your kids get home. Right as you open the door, however, let's say that your cell phone rings and you see that it's your daughter. When you answer, she might say something like this, through her sobs, that is: "Mom, I think I broke my foot."

You would probably jump in your car, nearly hit your neighbor's dog for the 4th time that day, and drive quickly to the school. You might find your poor daughter being pushed out to your car in a wheel chair by a teacher-- not her own teacher, mind you, because her own teacher told her to be tough, put her boot back on and head home. Nevermind that your daughter can't put any weight on the foot-- and even your untrained eye can see a noticeable deformity in the foot.

If all this happened to you, you would probably find yourself spending the rest of the afternoon at the instacare, where they would tell you that your daughter has a spiral fracture in her 4th metatarsal. Suddenly, all of the plans and routines you have established are out the window for the next little while, as your poor little princess will be on crutches and excused from school for 4 days until they can cast her foot. You realize that you will now be driving Princess to and from school every day for 4-6 weeks. It might occur to you that your plans for your son's birthday party on Saturday are going to need some re-vamping.

I'm just saying.... you never know what can happen in a minute or two!

Kim Can Run

I'm back.

Sort of.

I haven't made up my mind for sure yet, but quite honestly, I miss writing.

I haven't written anything since, well, probably my last post. No new Ensign articles or even Chicken Soup stuff. Not even a single cheesy Christmas poem this year.

It kind of feels like something is missing.

So here I am. Can't guarantee anything, but at least for today...

So my post today is about running. And how I've always HATED it. I remember the first time I had to run a mile in 7th grade. I'd never run that far before. I ran one lap hard, then had to walk. I felt like my lungs would explode. My heart pounded so hard, I'm sure that other people could hear it. I could taste that coppery (read blood) taste in my mouth. From that day on, running was my nemesis.

I have avoided running since that experience. When absolutely forced, I would run a little (until no one was looking) then walk. I will admit (and repent) that I've even been known to skip a lap. I know. Shocking.

Point being, I have never run a whole mile straight in my life.

Until this week.

In August, I decided to branch out from my nearly exclusive cycling routine and join the gym. I've been cross training. I do the elliptical machine. I lift weights. I've done spin and pump classes. And, I even started using a treadmill.

Yep, I run.

And, for the first time in my life, on Monday I ran a mile. My heart rate stayed around 155. I wasn't sucking wind. I COULD HAVE RUN longer, but I didn't have time.

It wasn't super fast. I'm sure it wasn't pretty. (Think more up and down than gazelle-like grace.) But, I did it. And it felt dang good.

I'd like to say that all of this work has made me a svelt size 6, but truth be told, it hasn't made too much of a difference weight/size wise. However, for the first time in a while, I feel STRONG.

And that's worth it.