Nothing breaks up a day on the couch like a 1.5 mile run

Topher just walked downstairs and said:
"You know, it's not often that we sit around and do nothing together.  We should do it more."

I wholeheartedly agree, dear sir.  We spent the daylight hours enjoying Netflix movies, Harry Potter and our adorably annoying dog.

However, we did break the monotony of sitting on our asses by going for a run. It's a gorgeous day evening and so much cooler than it's been here in the DC area- a mere 80 instead of 95.  I could almost feel a cool breeze.

Now, here's the sitch, friends.  I like to claim myself as athletic.  I was overwhelmingly invested in soccer in my younger years and when that lost its fun, I ran cross country.  Somewhere, in the last six years (as I've discussed, at length), I lost my athleticism.

Now, this wouldn't be a problem if it weren't for my husband.  Yes, my wonderful husband.  You see, he is currently much more athletic and much more fit than I.

And I hate it.  In his younger years, he did NOT play year-round sports like I.  He was active, yes, but athletic? He'll hate me for saying so, but I wouldn't have put him in that category.  Then, a year ago, we both realized our impeding marriage and the flub from the college and grad school years were taking their toll on our fitness and our bodies.

So we started running.  At first, we both struggled with a mile.  Fast forward one year later, and he can run 3 miles without too much hassle and I still want to cut off my legs and cry after a mile and a half.  What sucks is that I know why he's more athletic than me and there isn't much I can do about it.

To begin with, he has more time.  He gets home before me, when daylight is usually still present and can go for a run around our neighborhood.  Secondly, he by far has more will power and stamina than me.  He's the one that encourages us to run on weekends, drags me pouting to the track, and is able to choose the water over the diet Coke.  If it weren't for him, I really might eat Magic Shell more often than I drank water.

Finally, he's reached that ultimate place as a runner that you dream of- that place where running feels better than NOT running.  Where your body practically begs you to go running because it craves it, physically and hormone-releasing-ly.  Where the first mile sucks, but usually you can push yourself on because a) you've done it before and you know it's not too bad and/or b) you're actually experiencing that runner's high that makes the act of pounding the pavement FULFILLING.

Topher has said on multiple occasions he feels younger now than he did even a year ago because he's more physically fit.  When I hear that, I want to hug and punch him.  I'm so proud of his will power, his stamina, his athleticism, his commitment to health and movement.  And I'm jealous that here I am, the one that isn't.  I don't take losing well, and it's a bit just like losing.

Luckily, my husband is humble and helps me move past my sore-loser-ness every time I want to punch him.  He lets me give him running tips because he knows if I can't do, I'll teach.  He lets me pout but encourages me to run anyway.  And he lets me fire words like "patronizing" at him when we both know all he's doing is pushing me to keep going and keep running.

So cheers, husband, for winning.  But watch you're back- because I will get my athleticism back and you won't be able to lap me on our said little loop someday. :)