Two weeks ago, my middle child went to the school nurse complaining of chest pains. The school called the paramedics and took her to the emergency room. They did an ekg, a chest xray, etc and there is nothing wrong with her heart. My own heart sank when this all happened because I too have been to the ER with what I feared was a heart attack, but was anxiety. However, I was in my thirties when it happened to me–my daughter is almost 15. I’ve always been a worrier and a stress case and I’m not very emotional–I rarely cry, and I don’t yell out of anger (just to be funny). My stress has no choice but to manifest itself physically. I have apparently passed this on to my kid.
So. She and I decided that we would start running as a way to 1) release stress and 2) spend some time alone together. We’re going to run three times a week and attempt to work our way up to entering a 5k in July during SeaFair.
The first week we tried and failed to find time to make it to the store to buy running shoes. The cat had pissed on mine, and she had outgrown hers. Between working late, traffic issues, a heavy homework load, and a cranky toddler, we didn’t make it to the store. But I went over the weekend and bought us both shoes. Shoes? Check.
We had planned to go running in a window of time between when I got home and gave the baby her dinner. My son would wrangle the pipsqueak while my daughter and I ran to the park and back. (or more likely hobbled back). Then my son went out almost every night: to hang with his friends, to play D&D–whatever. Then my daughter got sent home from school because she puked. So no running.
We’re going to give it another shot this week. Fingers crossed!