Athleticism does not come naturally to me. It is hard work. I am not one of those people who wake up in the morning eager to hit the gym/pool/pavement. That's not me. Nope. Far from it. Instead, I have to push myself to get off the couch. Or have a gym buddy who does the pushing for me (thanks, Morag!).
I do admit that the feeling I have after exercising is one of absolute bliss. There is no better feeling than the one you get when your body has been pushed hard. Or maybe it is just the thought that I do not have to exercise again for another 24 hours. That could be it, but I don't think so - I mean, why else would I keep going back? Oh, yes... my buddy Morag! An intimidating force in her own right! But I digress...
Ever since arriving in Norway, a little voice inside my head has whispered steadily louder about how far away from GoodLife I am. Half around the world! Freedom! No more exercising for a whole 10 months. Lax mornings, lounging around in bed until the kids holler for breakfast. No stinky gym clothes to launder on a daily or semi-daily basis. Yes, freedom indeed!
Not so fast...have you met my husband?! My die hard, born-again exercising fantatic hubby?! Keen, keen, keen...everything you don't want to see at 7 am in the morning. I love him dearly - but I have to admit to cooler feelings when he wakes me up with a "Are you ready to go for a run?" In a weak moment, I apparently agreed that going for a run every day would be a great way to stay in some semblance of physical shape while travelling in Europe, and he is now holding me to it!
Most days I join him...I know it is good for me, and like I said before, I do feel better afterwards. But there is a huge difference between running in Richmond Hill and running in Norway...an unexpected, nasty, geographical difference. There are HILLS here! Everywhere you look, there are hills. And they always seem to be going UP from where I am standing. My legs burn like nothing I have experienced before, my brain screams for oxygen, and my lungs roar back that there is no oxygen left in the world. I pant, I gasp, I heave.
And I try awfully hard not to take it out on my husband. However, as he is chatting happily with me while running, and actually expecting me to respond, it dawns on me that he is not feeling these hills like I am. And his unfairly looooong legs are handling the ups and downs just fine. It is so hard not to come out with a snappy reply. Fortunately for him, on most days my severely oxygen-deprived brain is unable to do so.
I am lucky he still asks me to join him for these runs. And my hope is that if my cardiovascular system ever gets into sufficient shape where I can actually have a conversation with him while running up these hills, I will no longer feel the need to bite his head off! :)