The Trainer

So I started training for a half marathon this week.  I signed up for the race while spouse-o'-mine was still on his business trip.  When I told him what I'd done, he asked me if he could write out a strength program for me to do along with my regular running routine.  When he asked me this he asked very, very, very, very cautiously.

When we were first married spouse-the-poor-guy tried to help me out with my physical training program.  One day after I'd finished up a morning of nursing school clinicals, I called him and told him I was planning on going for a six mile run. 

He said, "Hey, how about you do two miles for time instead?"  I'm sure to him an exchange of two miles for six miles sounded fantastic.  He was offering me ice cream instead of a pickle. 

I said, "Ummm...I wanna run six miles I think," which meant, 'I'm planning on running really, really slowly and painlessly, with an emphasis on the pain and the less.  I'd prefer my pickle thank you very much.'

"You should really do two miles for time."

We met outside the gym on campus and he timed my two miles that I'm pretty sure included a lot of grumpy stomping.

Then we went inside the gym so I could do some sit-ups and push-ups.  I did a few push-ups and then he stopped counting them because my form was bad.  I tried to change my form.  It still wasn't right.  All I wanted to do was go for a slow six mile run.  All he wanted to do was help his wife become the athletic machine he knew she wanted to be.  My arms were tired and my form still wasn't right so I did what any gal in my position would do.  I turned my push-up away from him almost in tears and wouldn't look at him for the rest of the work-out.

He decided it might be best if he wasn't my trainer after all.

If we ever have a miscommunication now we'll sometimes do a little back and forth of, "I wanna do a six mile run," "You should do two miles for time," and it giggles out the stressful moment.

In a sign that this little gal has matured a little bit and that spouse-the-wise has learned to pick up on my unspoken signals, I welcomed his strength regimen into my life this week.   And let me tell you what - the front of my arms hurt and the back of my arms hurt.  My bottom hurts and my neck hurts.  And my quads hurt and my calves hurt.  And if my children look at my body I want to yell, "Please don't touch me!"

But it feels good.  It feels good to work hard, to push myself through pain, and to really believe it's going to make me better.  It kind of reminds me of marriage and how sometimes it's the painfully hard things that take the relationship to the next and happier level.