Addiction

Hi. My name is Kara and I'm addicted to running.

It's the only conclusion I could come to after rehashing my Saturday long run to my husband.

Him: How was your run?
Me: Miserable.

I then went on for minutes and minutes about how during the entire 7.5 miles, I never warmed up. How it suddenly started snowing, like, HARD at about mile 4. Have you ever seen an animal in the middle of a snow storm out in the middle of a field and thought, Oh, poor cow. I was the cow.

My rear end took days to finally get warm. I felt like I was hauling around two frozen hams.

Later that day, I had a text conversation with a friend and continued to rant to her how terrible it was. (She was the first to hear my cow analogy.) It was then I realized, yes, it is conclusive, I really must be addicted to this crazy activity. Or else, why? Why in the world?

I was actually giddy Friday night when I went to set my alarm because I needed to wake up and get running before the babies woke up. (Side note: I heart Saturdays. Daddy is so good at getting our munchkins breakfast and such on the weekends. Such a welcome break. LOVE it.) I was looking forward to plodding along at 5 miles per hour in 35 degree weather on the one day that I could actually sleep in if I really wanted to.

Before: excited.
During: miserable.
After: complained about it.

But will I do it again? Abso-friggin-lutely.

Because although I was a freezing cow, that familiar endorphin rush kicked in (during my complaint session) and my body and mind felt whole and good for a long time.

Because there are lots and lots of reasons why I run. Four of them happen to be the cute faces I left behind that morning. I'm such a better mom and wife when I get my running fix.

I could've slept in or steeped a herbal tea cup or two. (This was a thought I had around mile 5.) But I got up at 6:30 on a Saturday morning, in February, in the back of the Wasatch and ran.

I think I might need help. (Or just an extra layer or two.)