Three years ago, after the birth of Thing One, I started running. The first few bouts came courtesy of Jules, Ottawa trainer extraordinaire at the Strollercize sessions hosted by the Bank Street Boomerang Kids. My good friend H and I would haul our post-partum asses over to the canal two or three mornings a week to commiserate with 25 other new moms who also regretted every DQ Skor Blizzard we made our partners leave the house for in the middle of the night. Jules made us pay for those Drumsticks – big time – and waddling across Sunnyside with our shiny new Zoopers, Chariots and Bugaboos, we looked like a paddling of ducks.
Best of all, Boomerang makes this contribution to the community completely free of charge – and judgment. There are moms of all shapes and sizes, and never once did I feel like my thick thighs didn’t belong.
Starting to run wasn’t easy, but the physical aspect I found less challenging than the mental one – getting past that pesky brain blockage that so often mocks attempt at self-improvement. The first week, I ran for one minute, then walked for two. The week after, I ran two, then walked one. H and I kept doing this until yesterday, when we both PBed at the Army Run half-marathon. Though I only began to formally follow a running schedule a few months ago in preparation for the race, training for it began way back then. If only that huffing and puffing girl could see herself now.