Okay. Let's be honest, Brent is not just "a runner." He is a freakin' running machine.
And since we're being honest, I am not just "not a runner." I loathe running in my very soul.
Put them together and what have you got? Bippty boppity boo. [Oh wait...sorry...Blythe is into Cinderella at the moment.]
You've got us. This couple, this marriage, that somehow works. But, let me tell you, we're both exhausted by his training. He's exhausted because, well, the running. And I'm exhausted just thinking about getting up early and running.
But for real-- he loves running. And I love Oreos. He loves pounding his feet against the road, and I love writing. He loves jarring his joints, and I love a good book [Hey! I wouldn't mind reading about running!]. He loves the endorphin high from a good run, I love smelling my children's faces for the same affect [I think he gets the same affect there too].
I'm not just being satirical when I say that I really, truly find no joy in running. Remember that time I lost a bet with Brent and
I would lace on my shoes, which I bought for their looks and not their cross-training ability, and I would find some cool shorts and shirt. I'd borrow an i-pod or some other runner paraphernalia, and I would set out. About a block into it I would remember a few things:
1. I am afraid of dogs. Dogs love to attack and chase runners. What am I doing?!
2. I hate running. In my soul, this is not who I am. What am I doing?!
I'd try to finish up a few more blocks, just to kill some time so my roommates thought I'd actually ran, and then I'd walk back to my apartment. I love to play ball, even do occasional cardio or lift weights. But run? Nope.
And then I married this guy who loves to run. And is GREAT at it. And though I don't get any joy in running, I find great joy in watching this guy do something he's good at. And I love to cheer him on on race day. I won't lie and say I'm always super supportive when it's a Saturday and he has to go run 12 miles and I'm stuck with the girls by myself for a few hours on my day "off" [if that sounds terrible of me, it's because it is]. But I'm always so proud of him when he crosses that finish line. It reminds me of his dedication and quiet strength that he carries with him always, not just when he is running.
Brent "gets to" run a half marathon tomorrow. I've lost track of how many halfs [halves?] he has raced, but he gets better every time. I'm excited to bring the girls to cheer him on as he crosses another finish line.
I'm also excited that I am in no way, shape, or form doing any of the running.
Good luck, Brent! You amaze us all!