Not entirely unfit for 40.

At least twice a week, I willingly leave my toasty Tempurpedic at 5:15 am, put on my cold weather gear, and head out into the frigid darkness to run 5.5 miles with my neighbor – 6 if we opt for "heartbreak hill." I also suit up and run on Sunday nights when everyone else in the world is quietly (and smartly) resting indoors. That run tends to be harder because it comes just a few hours after a giant meal of Chinese food or maybe Thai. In the morning, I'm not fully awake until mile 2. Makes it go faster.


Now I will tell you that, despite my whining, I love to run in winter! It is the best thing. I feel healthy, accomplished, alive. It gives me more confidence and allows me to eat chocolate valentine hearts throughout the day without dramatic repercussions. It gives me better lung capacity so that climbing to Lu's third floor bedroom with an armful of laundry is a piece of cake. I will also eat cake if you offer some and will not feel bad. Or Pringles when I crave salty. I once saw a woman with a baseball cap that read, "I run so I can eat." That's about right, though I look terrible in a cap of any kind. I've tried.


Ninety-five percent of running is psychological, in my opinion. It's a total head game. Your head is saying,"What are you crazy? It's freezing outside. Remember when you had to warm up your car for 25 minutes before going around the block? And it's dark, you fool." (My head sounds like Mr. T.) You have to ignore your (mean Mr. T) head, lace up your sneakers and go. Just do it. Best advertising line ever because it is so true.


I grew up playing lots of sports. Games, where there is a point to it all. But putting one foot in front of the other, over and over, for no real reason, didn't make sense. I never appreciated it and ultimately grew to despise the mere thought of running.


We had a Turkey Trot every Thanksgiving in Middle School. Essentially, it was a race that was forced upon us. The one mile course consisted of two laps around some fields and along a sidewalk that went over a small creek. In 6th grade, I ran in that oblivious way kids just run and I was the 7th fastest female in my grade. Out of more than 100. That's not shabby. In 7th grade, I finished 11th. Again, pretty impressive. Again, pretty oblivious. By 8th grade, the insecurity and fear of failure kicked in. So did the apathy. My friend and I would duck under the bridge over the creek on the first lap, wait until the racers came back around, and then slip, unnoticed, into the group of slow walkers bringing up the rear. We didn't want to run and we didn't want to win and I bet we didn't want to mess up our hair.


The next twenty or so years, I never ran and would probably make a yucky face and roll my eyes if you asked me why not. Then a group of ladies from my mom co-op in Baltimore convinced me to join their running group. It was the winter after I had Edy and there was lingering baby weight and a gnawing need to shake off my housebound claustrophobia. The idea of getting out and breaking free suddenly sparked my interest. At first, I could barely do a half mile. Downhill. But I kept showing up (to escape that needy baby) and was soon running two miles. Me, two miles.


Then if you can run two miles, you can run three. And so on. Once you get past the mental block, it's really not hard. Running became more about the release. It was my time. I didn't dread it. There was a shift. That pointless act of putting one foot in front of the other, over and over again, became a privilege. My health, my potential, would not be squandered. Oh yes, there was a shift.


I still have a hard time saying I'm a runner. I'm the speed of molasses with a hint of glue. I do not dress in anything slick. My neighbor and I are the perfect pair because we're similarly slow and poorly attired. We make fun of ourselves a lot. And while I'm doling out unquantified percentages, I would say that 45% of the benefit I get from our runs comes from the talking (complaining about husbands) we do. Physical therapy, mental therapy. Love, love, love.


Please don't think I'm trying to convince you to run. In the winter. In the dark. Nothing is worse than someone telling you how to live or what works for them will absolutely work for you. Maybe you're more the mixed martial arts type? I am reminded of a friend from high school who went away to college and became obsessed with country music. Back home, he made us all listen to it. "Wait, you'll love this song. Pay attention to the lyrics. The refrain. The message. LISTEN!" It made me loathe country music. (We've made peace since then. Country music and I, that is. Lost touch with the friend years ago.)


As for other exercise, I also do some yoga every now and then. But yoga preaches no judgment, so I don't go for months at a time, because no one is judging. And I play tennis once a week at the club. Never thought I'd string that sentence together. It's fun and "exercises" my competitive nature.


Put it together and I'm not entirely unfit for 40. Chocolate valentine hearts and all.


What exercise do you prefer and why?