In the early evening I was sitting at this very computer, minding my own business, when who should swoop down but my darling older sister, Janine. "Dearest sister," she entreats me, "Come for a run with me." I refuse. I am not a runner. Though I have nothing against the exercise in general, I am no a go-out-for-a-run type person. Yet the persistence and persuasive attitude of my sister convinces me again, and before I know it, I'm running down the "ravine" by our house. Trying to maintain a civilized conversation becomes possible, and Janine's long legs constantly remain one pace ahead of me. Finally, I state in frustration, (state, not shout, I kept my red head temper in check) "Janine, I am not a runner!" My super athletic, runner-type sister then suggests that I speed walk, and she runs back and forth to not get ahead of me. This is even stranger, as I start to feel like a Mommy with an anxious toddler. A toddler who is 6'1" and surpasses me in intelligance and physical ability. Finally we reach a neighbourhood playground, where my anxious toddler insists on playing. Only her idea of play is pushups, suspended crunchies, and chinups. This is more my kind of thing, so I am content. Minus the chinups, where I get so excited I conk my head on the monkey bar playing the role of our chin up bar. At this point, we head home, walking briskly. Upon reaching home, we set up yoga camp in the basement and Neen spends her time teaching Peter how to stretch properly, and I, completely in my element, experiment with various methods of standing on my head.
It's strange, that running is such an, unfun activity for me. I consider myself to be a moderately athletic person. Give me a frisbee and a field and I'll run for over an hour, but just plain, running down the sidewalk with no objective, nothing to focus on, and no one but a single running partner, drives my crazy. How strange, that the same activity can be so enjoyable, and so maddening in two different circumstances.