Some people like working out for the release, the stress-busting endorphins or something. I’m making this up, because I really have no understanding for people who like to work out. I love, love, love walking with our Zippy with Abby on a sunny afternoon. Chasing a kid around the park – I can do that. But sweating is so … sweaty.

But I was thinking I should probably start putting some more effort and less whining into fixing my mom physique, so I decided a 5K that’s coming up would make a respectable goal.

“It can’t be worse than childbirth,” I reasoned.

“We take the Zippy out everywhere; I’m in reasonably decent shape already. What’s 3 miles?” I asked myself.

Then I ran from the driveway to the stop sign, and I about died. And let’s be clear: If I wanted to, I could throw a baseball at the stop sign from our driveway. A softball, maybe. An underhanded pitch. Oooh, babies have not been gentle to my stamina.

But I didn’t die, so that’s the good part. I wasn’t ready to go Facebook on the fact I’d bought some running shoes and was pretending to be a runner. I was picturing a string of 5 a.m. wakeups and shin splints. I was picturing blogging about shin splints. Dang it.

“Do you really think I can do this?” I asked Dave, who should know because three years ago he ran a half marathon. (He has not run since, for reasons that are about to be clear.)

Dave stopped, spoon mid-air while feeding Lucy, who was sitting in the Fast at our dining room table. “Yeah,” he said, but Abby was shrieking “MAMA, MAMA, you want play dinosaurs wit me?” while running around the dining room table. The dog was scurrying under the table, away from her toddling. The mail from Monday was sitting on the table amid our dirty dishes from dinner.

The key part of Dave’s success story: he ran three years ago. Our oldest is 2 ½. That is not a coincidence.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” I said. So now I’m Googling “shin splints” and I’m sweating at 5:30 a.m., and I’m not sure how I feel about that.

Except … when I’m about a mile from home, it’s so quiet. I’m listening to Modest Mouse and Arcade Fire and no one’s spitting peas at me. So. Maybe this isn’t such a bad thing.