It could be argued that I am a giant slacker for not getting around to promoting this on my blog until now, but I prefer to think that I am working to sustain the fabulous buzz already surrounding this endeavor. Did that sound convincing?
Anyway, it was supercool to talk to a bunch of my fellow running moms about the perils of Mommy Guilt, why there is apparently no such thing as Daddy Guilt, how to bribe our children into letting us go running, and our dream jogging stroller, which would include a built-in DVD player to quiet down the kiddies so we could keep on going.
In related news, during Jack’s and my weekly trip to the library, we found a book called My Mom is a Runner by Mary Gallagher Reimold. I found this synopsis of the book on Amazon:
The rigorous training involved in long distance running is depicted in sharp, well-reproduced color photographs of the lifestyle of a family of four. Although the mother is dedicated to the sport and works at it daily, she does not isolate herself from her husband and young sons. She is shown caring for the boys, running with them on a track, sharing her tee shirts and other prizes, and celebrating the end of a race with a visit to the ice cream parlor. In turn, her husband and sons are her enthusiastic and supportive fans.
As I read the book to Jack, I found myself doing some selective editing. I chose not to point out to him that the cotton t-shirt that the mom was wearing out on her long run would cause chafing, since that would require more explanation than I was willing to provide. But the part about how sometimes the mom lets her kids wear her race t-shirts to school the next day? Or how the mom actually gives her finishers’ medals to them?
If Jack wants a race t-shirt or a finishers’ medal, then he needs to hit the pavement and earn it his own damned self.