Oh, the humanity

I have been trying to come up with a succinct way to summarize 2010 without rehashing the "what if's", "why didn'ts", and "if only's" that are part of everyone's vernacular this time of year. The only thing I can come up with is "zeppelin." Not in the rocking, Led Zepplin kind of way. But as in the Hindenburg: full of hot air, destined for disaster, and shaped like a blimp. Hey, what can I say? New Years ain't pretty.

When my college roommate bravely paved the way and had her first baby, she commented the post-partum shape of her famously awesome abs was like a deflated basketball. Oh, what I'd give for the deflated basketball, rather than the not-entirely-deflated airship that I'm toting around these days. No less than four times, one as recently as two weeks ago, I have been asked how far along I am. The first three times, I felt worse for the person who asked. The fourth time? Not so much. In my mind (hopefully only in mind), my ab issues grow exponentially every night because of the relationship between stress and belly fat. At this rate, I'm a walking case study.

The good news? I can't possibly look any worse in running clothes, so there you have it. With fresh snow on the ground on New Years Day, I got myself and my 10-year-old dog-turned-puppy-in-the-snow out for a full 30-minute (yes, all in a row) trot. Fresh from that victory, after being defeated by the DVD player so I couldn't do my planned core workout, today I grabbed Emma, in the hopes that she couldn't run and roll her eyes at me at the same time, and we went for a "run" together, on the condition she didn't spend the whole time complaining. She didn't complain once. I let her pick the pace and when we ran and walked. It was unexpectedly great, and perfect for stretching out from yesterday, as my body was in complete shock. There is even talk of a race in June -- a girls race, with girl friends. Out of town. With actual friends. It bears repeating.

During our annual "friends plus too much wine" Holiday After-party last week, my Ironman triathlete friend (what can I say? I live in Colorado - they are like a dime a dozen ) insisted, rather passionately despite my excuses otherwise, that I am a long distance runner. Part of his argument? I am built like a long distance runner. I'm sure he didn't mean at this exact moment, but still, that's what he saw. His other point? I've done it. I can do it. I will do it again. And he corrected every comment of mine that led with "I was thinking of..." and insisted I shift it to "I am running...". I stood a little taller. And you know what? Stretched a bit, the zepplin starts to look a little more like Angelina Jolie. Not really; that's just the buildup of egg nog resin talking. Or maybe I'm just wacky on the Helium. In any case, it doesn't really matter. It's nice to look over and see my shoes laying by the door.