Now the first issue is that eating half of one cookie shows some restraint, not half of three. Also, the more I look at this photo, the more I realize that none of those have half left.
While the baby slept, we amused ourselves with some baking...of course we did! I guess the only thing I can say for myself on that note is that I didn't eat any raw batter. I will not deny thinking about it, but the above photo shows what I ate instead to keep from going hungry! We frosted many, many mustache cookies. We stuck to brunettes that day, but considered future plans to add blonde and red-heads to the mix. For a much classier picture of our efforts, click here!
I brought home some cookies, and some even made it out of the car to the kitchen counter. The kids ate some of them, and well, the rest are long gone too.
Flash forward to this morning...I was out walking the dog (in my pajamas, as usual) thinking about how decent the temperature was. I tried to think of some reasons why this was not the day to try jogging again. Aside from hating it, I couldn't really think of anything. I also realized that flopping over the top of my waistbands was something I might despise even more than a little cardio. I wasted no time back at the house worrying about what clothes I threw on, aside from a sports bra. I had sixteen minutes before I had to wake up the girl child for school.
A friend of mine had joined a running club last year. They started out by jogging fifteen minutes, and it didn't matter how fast or slow, as long as you kept going for fifteen minutes. How bad could that be? Obviously there was a logical progression in the duration over time, but it's the starting that stinks! I only lasted for the month of November, and might've gotten to eighteen minutes...maybe...once. I used to grab my cell phone, set it to stopwatch mode, because heaven forbid I jogged ten seconds past the fifteen minute goal. If those fifteen minutes were up at the end of my street, yes I walked the rest of the way home. It really just became an exercise in fifteen minutes of having a thought bubble over my head that kept repeating "I HATE THIS!"
I pretended to stretch for about five seconds. I knew it wasn't really the correct way to go about it, but if I paused to google that kind of information, all hope would be lost (plus I had survived last November's efforts). I flipped the cell phone open, and started the stop watch...
25 seconds - I couldn't believe the level of torture I told myself this would be. I am nearly floating down the street!
90 seconds - Whoops, swerve to miss dead frog.
3 minutes - Wow! I haven't checked the time in over a minute!
4.5 minutes - I am barely sucking wind...not that I have tried to speak out loud.
6 minutes - ouch! The side of my knee hurts.
6.5 minutes - Scold self.
7.5 minutes - Um, yeah, pain starting to shoot down leg. I consider the embarrassment of having to go to the doctor to explain any sort of sport injury. Also concerned how much the visit might cost, as I have yet to figure out the insurance coverage we have had for the past two years.
8.5 minutes - Passing my house, and fighting every urge to just give up for the day.
11 minutes - OUCH! IT REALLY FRIGGIN HURTS AND PAIN NOW SHOOTING IN A VARIETY OF DIRECTIONS!
11.5 minutes - Stop. Much better when not jogging. Wondering what form of exercise I can do tomorrow, as quitting all together after day one will not bode well for future efforts.
Remaining 4.5 minutes spent doing a jog, hobble, walk type of action back home.
By the time I got out of the shower, some twinges of pain had resurfaced. By the time I was halfway through the grocery store, I was seriously unimpressed. I turned down the cashier's inquiry as to whether I wanted drive up service, as I was fairly certain I would still have to go get my van. No valet service at Wegmans. I was so glad I had so many things for the fridge and freezer that needed my immediate attention once I got everything inside. Grrr!
I texted my physical therapist friend to give her the heads up that I needed either advice or a time machine. I am immensely disappointed in what little help the ice is having. Oh, I am immensely impatient as well, I guess.
**Side note: When my husband had his bout of tendonitis, he was told to ice the spot. Oh, he iced it all right...for over 90 minutes straight. I did not know the treatment for tendonitis was frostbite.**
I decided to plant myself here at the computer, and suppose I will grab a book and retreat to the couch soon. AND, if you give this lady a couch, she's going to want a cookie!