Trailing my warm up jacket behind me by one sleeve, watching the retreating backs of my 20 something spawn of Satan. Oh, wait, those are my lovely children. This is my fault, as usual. Since I have been putting in about two miles or more on the treadmill everyday for the last three months, I insanely believed I could keep up when my daughter said, “Oh, Mom, would you like to go out for a jog instead?” I did pretty well the first mile, except for the intervals when she and Jason ran backwards and Eva insisted it was just so she could talk to me. I could still form words at that point, so after the mile warm up she realized if I could still talk I wasn’t pushing myself enough. Then the fun began. I am proud to say that I made it home alive and I did the ab workout with them afterwards. It was so good to lie down on the floor, even if I didn’t get to stay prone for long.
She’s in the shower now getting ready for another marathon, this one at the mall. She’s still on London time, so when I woke this morning all the empty wine bottles we left on the table last night after dinner were cleaned up, the table was pristine, and she even ran the dishwasher. I’m off now to make coffee and make sure my debit card is in my wallet. I know, but it’s a small price for the excitement she brings with her. I do love it when my girl comes home.
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oh SB, it sounds like a lovely time!!! and the sore is good kind of sore ;)
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