I could talk about a few of the Big Choices I have made in my life…like when I decided to go to Augustana college at the very last-minute instead of going to the University of Wyoming (luckily for my future kids my grandmother was a little psychic and told me that she just knew that I needed to go to Augustana.)
Or when I made the decision, two years later, to transfer to the University of Minnesota where I would be four hours away from my boyfriend and future husband (both the same guy) and live in a big city for the first time where I didn’t really know anybody.
Or maybe I could talk about when I decided to go to California and live with my parents for 15 weeks to cover a maternity leave when my son was a toddler because I was coming loose at the seams a bit and I just needed my mom. Post-post-partum?
But I won’t pick any of those big choices. Mostly because when it came down to those real decisions, the path always ended up seeming kind of inevitable, therefore not all that difficult.
I think that the hardest choice that I have made, and continue to make most days, is more simple. And maybe incredibly lame and a testament to how not-difficult my life has been up to this point.
The hardest choice that I make is that I choose to put on my running shoes.
And that’s the toughest part, really. Once I put on my shoes, for some reason, the running part isn’t that difficult. Except for the whole being afraid of getting eaten by a large predator thing. You should have seen me jump when a bunny bolted out of the bushes this morning. My dog was for sure laughing at me.
Some days putting on my shoes can be ridiculously easy, like if I’m meeting a friend that I can’t wait to hang out with or if it happens to be a mind-numbingly gorgeous Fall day or if I have been cooped up with kids for days because of record rain fall or something like that.
But a lot of days the act of putting on those freaking shoes is ridiculously hard (in a first-world-hard sort of way.) Like after the nights when the kids have conspired to create midnight Mardi Gras in my bedroom or on those super cold January mornings where I can see the wind blowing sideways outside my window and the idea of rolling out of my lovely warm covers sounds as horrible as watching Pawn Stars with my husband.
And sometimes I would really just like to sit on the couch like this:
Or eat crackers on the deck with this extreme porch-sitter:
But then I would miss all of this and I wouldn’t even know I was missing it and that is also very lame:
I run not only because it makes me feel good but also because sometimes making the harder choice feels weirdly good too. And it’s partially hard because it’s one that I have to keep making every day. It’s the harder choice between curling up in my warm bed or sliding my still-asleep body down onto the floor, tugging on my crappy running pants and schlepping out into the freezing morning world and risk being a big cat’s breakfast. The harder choice between going to sleep and being awake, literally and figuratively.
There is something kind of satisfying about overcoming my own self. The self that really just wants to sit on my ass while my toddler naps and drink a beer in the afternoon and watch Breaking Bad even though I have only watched one episode and so far it seems kind of creepy and sad.
Cheers to making good and hard choices.
Beer at lunch = bad. Running = good.
This post was brought to you by Finish the Sentence Friday (FTSF). The Sentence was “The hardest choice I ever made was…” Please visit FTSF blog hop hosts:
Stephanie at Mommy for Real
Kristi From Finding Ninee
Janine from Janine’s Confessions of Mommyholic