Mother's day and voluntary torture.

My body hurts. When I say this I don’t mean in a good “I’m alive” kind of way. I mean it in the most negative of ways, with a lot of whining and groaning attached. I walked in the Vancouver Sun run this past Sunday, a total of 10k in 1 hour and 50 minutes. It was a beautiful sunny, Mother’s day morning and the walk itself turned out pleasantly. In fact after I finished I smugly thought “I should do this more often”. I’m an idiot.

Three days later and I can sort of move my legs without complaining. (I complain anyway because I can). I made the mistake of going bike riding the next evening with my Girl Guide unit. Now my legs AND my ass hurt. It’s rather symbolic that I chose to torture myself on Mother’s day. It was kind of like labour and delivery in retrospect. You start out going “Hey, this isn’t so bad” to “WHAT WAS I THINKING; I DON”T WANNA DO THIS ANYMORE!” then afterwards you walk around like you crapped a baby out of your vagina for a week. Happy mother’s day to me.

Well I did it. I set a goal and accomplished it. Apparently training before hand would have prevented the whole pain issue, personally I kind of think it may have prolonged it.

When I was busy whining about it yesterday one of the ladies that work in the department next door commented that it was a good thing. I looked at her like she was insane. She completely ignored my stink eye as she then inserted common sense and logic into the conversation. She raised her perfect eyebrow and stated “We only have one body, we don’t get another one, so it’s best we take care of it” and went on to give some more sage advice before sauntering off, her perfect figure figuratively flipping me the bird.

All it made me think about was I wished I could get an upgrade. Sigh, ow!

My children and husband cleaned the house on Friday for me (sort of) for Mother’s day and were so proud of themselves you would have thought they’d cured disease. I wonder what would happen if I did that every time I cleaned the house. It was nice though and I really did bite my tongue and didn’t mention the little piles of stuff in corners, on counters, etc. That alone should have made me the best mother ever.

Meghan and I put in our garden this weekend, another layer to my body torture. The garden looks great (for now) but who knew bending was so hard when you’re fat. I ended up sitting in the middle of the garden and weeding around me. Not a pretty sight, but effective.