The Walmart 5K

     I previously posted that I love to exercise. I hate to run.  With a passion...hate it.  However, there seems to be a 5k kick going around lately.  Many of my friends are posting pictures on Facebook of these "fun" runs, "colorful" runs, "benefit" runs. You name it, there's a 5k for it.  I've even dabbled a bit in this epidemic myself. I started the 'Couch to 5k' three times already and even made it to week 4 one time. AND I've walked in two 5ks this year and participate in the March of Dimes walk every year! Not too shabby, really.  But then I see all these pictures on Facebook of my very fit and trim friends finishing these races with a smile on their face and a medal around their neck. There's even a t.v. show on ABC right now called Extreme Makeover and people who are overweight are running and finishing these races, smiling as they finish.  I started thinking, maybe I could r..u...n.. a 5k.  Maybe I could even get together with some friends and start training to r...u...n.. Ugh. It makes me sick for a bit so I stop thinking about it, but overtime the idea comes back to me.  And then I get to go grocery shopping.
     I start at 6 in the morning. I wake up to eat a healthy breakfast of cappuccino and am quickly interrupted by 2 little girls streaming down the stairs. I must climb the stairs to get the baby.  After changing diapers, feeding and getting three children ready for the day it's 9 a.m. and I've forgotten to eat the rest of my breakfast.  Out the door we go to run all of our errands before the puppet show at the library at 10 a.m. We made it on time, phase 1 complete. :)  I ease into the race at a steady pace until the last 15 minutes of the show and my toddler decides he's bored. The chasing and keeping things out of his mouth phase has begun.  After the show it's a quick run to Walmart. This is where my endurance must kick in.  I have my list in hand and put the children in the limo cart, except my toddler has fallen asleep in the car and I am forced to carry the 32 pounds of dead weight in one hand while I push the 70 pounds of wiggle weight with my other hand.  I maneuver the limo up and down the aisles while making frequent stops to squat the baby weight as I grab items off the shelf (always on the bottom it seems).  The girls and I have sung 6 different versions of Wheels on the Bus and a few rounds of Old McDonald before I've successfully made it to the check-out line (enter mental stamina).  My toddler wakes up, well rested and ready to run. Phase 3 begins.  After all groceries and children are safely in the car it's time to stop for lunch.  We make a 'quick' stop for potty breaks and food, and it goes surprisingly well, but the race is only half over.  Then we're off to the second grocery store.  They don't have limo carts so the girls go at a faster pace than me, helping reach items we don't need but they want.  Again I maneuver the cart up and down, though easier than the previous store.  I make it to the check-out line and struggle to keep all three contained and near me, then head out the door. Again, all kids and groceries are placed in the car.  Almost done, right? Wrong.  I'm out of gas.
     It's another quick stop and then head home. I can see it now, I'm in the home stretch.  The finish line is so close I can taste it, but then the hardest phase begins.  The final stage; unload the car of kids and food, put food away and kids down for naps.  I've done well up to this point. No major melt-downs, no tantrums, no 'pee the pants' accidents, but the true test comes when the I pull into the drive.  Here it comes. One by one I must carry the children in because suddenly their legs don't work anymore. Tears start rolling and fights break out as I leave them in the house and bring in bags of groceries.  As soon as I get all the bags in, one by one I take them potty and change diapers. I climb the stairs to put the baby to bed, then go fetch another and climb again, fetch another and climb again. Aaaaahhhhhh, all in bed, all asleep, FINISH.  
      I feel like I just ran a marathon. My legs hurt, my arms are about to fall off and my head is pounding.  That was a 5k,  right? Maybe longer? Yes. I tell myself that was the equivalent of a marathon and instead of a medal around my  neck, my reward is a calming glass of wine.  Success.  I win.