My Goal Of Becoming A Marathon Mom

I’m probably one of the least athletic people you’ll ever come across, but once upon a time, I did run for exercise. I went to a university that has a great campus for running. I also grew up in a city where there are several places specifically designed for jogging or running. I wasn’t fast, but I could actually do it without feeling too uncomfortable. And there were no balls to dodge, which was the main trouble with most sports. Balls always zero in on me any time I’m in their vicinity. It’s not just balls, you know. Rabid dogs and crazy bag ladies do, too.

In any case, I could run, but not quite skillfully enough to take on events such as sprints or cross country races. I did have my hopes pinned on joining fun runs and eventually some big deal marathon. The problem, at that time, was my endurance. I couldn’t finish 5k in a non-embarrassing length of time, but I knew I could train to be able to do that.

I actually grew up cheering my dad on in various fun runs. My mom, my sister, and I would wake up at the crack of dawn to accompany him. We’d cozy up in the car, sipping hot drinks and eating muffins while we waited for dad to cross the finish line. Since fun runs usually happened on Sundays, it meant dashing back home as soon as Dad got his finisher freebies to get ready for church. I have no idea if this defiled the Sabbath, but since Dad’s the pastor, not me, I felt it was his issue, if there was actually one, to take up with God. Anyway, Dad stopped running and resorted to walking and table tennis when the doctor advised him against running because of his back. Or was it his knee? At any rate, his running days are effectively over.

Drawing some unconscious inspiration from that bit of my childhood, I started running, too. It was just the kind of anti-social, pensive, non-competitive-ish sport my kind of weirdo would be interested in. Of course, I often see people running together, even chatting. My dad, himself, used to do his morning run with a group. For some reason, I always ended up running solo, getting lost in daydreams and courting the interest of predators.

I think I stopped running when I got married. I also ate more meat. Sharing my life with somebody somehow robbed me of the health nut poseur identity I was carefully trying to cultivate. Having my first baby, however, coincided with my turning 30 and I found myself gaining weight. I knew I had to do something.

For almost a decade now, it has been my resolution to take up running again. I even dreamed of joining fun runs while pushing my baby in a jogging stroller. That baby is now a tween and about ready to join a fun run herself, but I still have to successfully take up the habit again. I’m not giving up hope, however. Two of my kids are still stroller age, so I can still make that dream come true. Not that my being a marathon mom is contingent to running with a stroller. Training, on the other hand, is. To get closer to my goal, I may have to sign up for sessions at Functional Training Ireland to properly prep and condition myself. Who knows? You may just see me crossing the finish line at the Dublin Marathon next year.

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