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HEALTH
a jog HOP, SKIP AND
WO R DS A N D P H OTOG R A P H Y : AMAN DA SILVE R M AN KOSIOR
This is typically the time of year when I take up running. I am the right type of person for running as I own a pair of sneakers, belong to a class of bipedal organisms, and say things like, “I can’t do a chin-up because I prefer cardio.” Also, my natural state of movement is akin to a speed walking 1980s businesswoman — elbows up, emphatic stride, power skirt and sports socks — so it’s only a hop-step more to turn that into a light jog.
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:: areawomanmagazine.com
I have a habit of becoming a springtime runner because the calendar gives me an unproven surge of hope that I will soon look unbelievable in a bathing suit. By July I have given up on the beach-ish body and moved onto creating good workout habits. This is followed by a fall that’s both a season and a description for how easily I justify the lack of time for exercise as soon as schedules get busy. Then comes winter, and by mid-January I realize I’m winded from walking up the stairs to my office and strongly considering buying maternity pants “for the stretch.” Running has always been a two-part activity for me. Part one is all about preparation: finding the exact right mix of beat-thumping songs, drinking a big glass of water, and then running about 200 steps before pausing in order to go to the bathroom.
Once I’ve done my part one business, part two can begin in earnest. Part two starts with finding an entirely different set of beat-thumping songs, making a half-hearted attempt at stretching (so that my muscles aren’t stiff after my part one “run”), and then actually running. We used to live in the country. Out there I’d lace up my sneakers and Velcro on my cell phone armband and make a big show about going for a jog. Our old house was surrounded by one-mile sections of farmland, so a typical run for me would consist of jogging up and back one side of the section. That road only saw a handful of cars a day, so those runs were just me and the wind; which was good, because it really tested the strength of my husband’s love when I returned home all red-faced, jiggly and sweaty from the equivalent of a warm-up.