Run Of Luck

Some of you may not yet be aware that I am transforming into an athletic goddess.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I hear the snickers from my family, who all clearly remember the days when I used to fall down the stairs regularly, causing undue bodily harm to myself, others, and inanimate objects. I will have you know that it has been almost a week since I last fell down the stairs. And my laptop, and the baby, are just fine since "the incident," thanks for asking.

Seriously, though, it's true, on paper I now look like a majorly health-conscious babe. Somehow, a few weeks ago, I got suckered into leading a yoga routine for a Relief Society Retreat. Again and again I tried to explain that I look like a total fool doing yoga, that my legs don't really, well, straighten, that I have no sense of balance, that those watching might never actually know what the poses should look like. But my protestations were to no avail, this member of the Relief Society Presidency was convinced that I was the only person in the ward who could help her out and used her evil mind tricks to make me say yes.

Then the retreat was cancelled. By then, however, I'd already been practicing for two weeks, and daily reciting positive affirmations while stretching my steel bands of hamstrings, so when I realized I didn't have anything worthwhile planned for the women's Tuesday morning group I organize that week... so we declared it yoga day. Fortunately, my morning group friends are extremely forgiving, and though much of our time was spent yelling across the gym at wild hooligan children, or shaking off monkeys who think their parents are playground equipment, they all declared that our half hour was a) unmiserable, and b) invigorating. That seemed good. Later that week there was some moaning of soreness, also a positive sign. Several weeks later, when I suggested that someone else should take a stab at leading an activity, the unanimous vote was, much to my surprise, we should do yoga more often.

So, now I am a once-a-month "yoga instructor." OK, not officially, but I claim the title nontheless because every time I say it I start to giggle. Seriously, these women must be DESPERATE.

Meanwhile, my friend Kirsten over at the House of Tiny Terrors invited me to join her in participating in.... bum ba da dum.... a 7k RACE! I laughed and politely declined, seeing as how I don't "do" running. She laughed and said she would be walking the race, pushing her baby, and I was welcome to come walk along. I could hardly turn that down, and so I accepted. This past weekend, therefore, I donned my tennis shoes, three layers of shirts, a professional-looking paper number on my back, and a cool electronic timer attached to my laces, and entered my FIRST RACE! The Evansville Run of Luck for Easter Seals.

The day arrived exceedingly wet and chill, so we walked sans children, which was actually quite nice (Michael, by the way, did a fantastic job having baby all to himself for half the day. He's really a fantastic daddy. Jed doesn't miss me at all when he's got his cool dad around.) I'd never realized what a cultural event a St. Patrick's Day race can be. "The Centre" (Yes, the European spelling, complete with cheesy hard-to-read cursive is emblazoned across the local Evansville convention center. Talk about classy.) was packed full of enthusiastic green-attired and athletic looking folk, all psyched to a fevered pitch and rocking out to live traditional Celtic tunes. Really, it was a blast. I was wet and happy as can be. Excllent conversation made the time fly, and before I knew it I was traipsing across the finish line. My time? A personal best! I proudly proclaimed this with fist punching to the sky as the soaked and slightly miserable looking timer looked at his stopwatch and unenthusiastically announced that I was somewhere in the 90 minute area. I thought I was hilarious. He didn't seem to appreciate my humor. Oh well. Some people.

So there it is. I am a yoga instructor and I enter races. Impressed, aren't you? You can wipe that smirk off your face, now, and leave the room.