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Quote of the Day
Monday, August 08, 2005
I Did It For Love
First, it is important to note that I am the most unathletic, uncoordinated person to walk (barely, and not very fast!) the face of the earth. Second, I also have terrible feet: when I stand, my feet are so screwed up that it literally looks like I'm standing on my ankles with my feet squashed out to the side, flatter than flat. Third, I hate sweat. Fourth, I have tried various athletic pursuits in the past and I have always gotten so bored with them that I give them up in the first week or two. And finally, although I am not "fit," I am also not overweight. I look normal, even trim at times (e.g., when I'm wearing my miraculous skinny jeans).
Given these five things, what possessed me to agree to start running with my husband? And why in the world did I promise to run a 5K?
Love. Doggone it.
A little background: when we were living out West, just after our wedding (about six years ago), my husband and I had a little argument. He loved to work out, loved to take long hikes, loved to ride his bike on the trails, and I didn't really like to do those things at all. He made some comment that he thought it was wrong that I wasn't physically active, wrong that I didn't like to work out. I was insulted, because I told him that there were plenty of things I liked to do (read classic fiction, bake, garden) that he didn't enjoy, and I was fine with that. He persisted, however, telling me that everyone SHOULD work out, SHOULD be fit, and that it didn't matter if I didn't like it -- he said that being physically active was something that he thought was fundamental to life, unlike my favorite pursuits like classic fiction reading. I was mad, because I felt like was calling me an unhealthy slob. And then I came up with something like this: "I understand that you consider physical fitness an essential part of life," I said, "but I don't. I consider spiritual fitness essential, however, and you refuse to go to church. I think that's bad, yet I don't force you to go to church with me. So you shouldn't force your working out on me."
Fine. He agreed, noting that I have never pushed religion on him, even though I'm a pretty good Catholic. Argument over. Never brought it up again in six years of marriage.
Six years of a great marriage have progressed, six years of maturing with each other have passed. My darling husband, who becomes more of a gem with each passing year, decided that, since ST was baptized Catholic and since he is now over two years old, ST should start going to Mass regularly because it's important to me. So I started to take ST with me on Sundays, and it was a hassle. A HUGE hassle. T then said, around Christmas time in 2004, that he would start coming to Mass with me to help me with ST. Fine. We go faithfully every Sunday until Easter. On Easter Sunday, T loses it after Mass. He said that he had never liked the priest of the Church we were going to, and that we needed to find somewhere else to go. I tell him that if he's going to uproot us from our "home" parish, then he needed to take an active role in finding a new one.
Well, he really has. We now go to a small church that is infinitely better than the one we were attending, and to my great shock, T is enjoying himself at Mass. He doesn't complain about going, he listens to the readings and the homily (things he never used to do), and we actually talk about the Mass afterwards. T even knows almost all of the Catholic responses and prayers, and has some of the songs memorized. ST has become a fairly well-behaved church-goer as well. Quite nice. Happy family.
Which brings me to yesterday. I told T that I really, really appreciated that he goes to Mass with us now, and that I know that he does it because he loves me and wants ST to grow up with a religion. I told him how much it meant to me, and I told him that I wish I could do something similar for him, something that I didn't want to do, but I would do because I loved him.
An idea immediately popped into my head. Running.
T is training for a marathon, so running is his life right now. Before Mass yesterday, actually, he ran 16 miles. He runs a few times during the week, and then does long runs on the weekends. He loves it, and he's good at it.
So I told T that if he helped me, I would start to run. I wouldn't run a marathon, but I'd do whatever I could to get myself to a 5K or even an 8K. He was THRILLED. Beyond thrilled, even. So, we went out and bought some running clothes, and we're going to a specialty running shop this week to get me fitted for shoes appropriate for my horrible feet.