The stretching program Hockey Playing Husband ordered for me came in the mail and I was all “Oh, goody!”
I can officially say I hate stretching. As Hockey Playing Husband pointed out, I’m completely inflexible–although I hope he’s talking only about my muscles and not our relationship. It took me 30 minutes and I hated every second of it. But seeing as how my fingers have not touched my toes in about 30 years, clearly I need to do it.
When I emailed Hockey Playing Husband to let him know I had done my stretches for the day–that’s called accountability–and “Oh, by the way, I’m meeting a friend for drinks tonight. Totally forgot to tell you.” he emailed back and said, “That’s good. You earned a drink tonight,” which was when I thought this whole husband training me thing might not be so bad after all.
Also, he’s already helped me understand what I’m doing wrong with my positioning and the proper way to push out with my legs when I’m skating. Unfortunately, the way my brain works I need to understand the why of something before I can get my body to do it. He gets that. This is also good.
Which brings me to…
I still can’t wrap my head around starts and how you’re supposed to lean forward and almost ‘fall’ into your start but what I don’t get is if you’re leaning all your weight onto your front foot, doesn’t that make if more difficult to lift up that foot to take a step.
My mind is not understanding this at all.
I’m afraid of spiders. HUGELY afraid. If I see one, I scream. If I have one on me, I flail about like a mad woman until it’s off and end the flailing with a set of full body shudders. If there’s one in the house I place a glass over it and wait for Hockey Skating Husband to come home and get rid of it. My kids think it’s hilarious so one day they challenged me to hold a tarantula at some reptile place I took them to. And because I’m always on them about trying new things, I did it, but not without silently cursing them in my head–zipperholes–and then I freaked the frick out. Spiders are my Achilles heel.
So every bloody week at dryland training when we are face down in the grass doing “Superman” and planks, all I can think is spiderspiderspiderspiderspiderspiderspiderspiderspiderspiderspiderspider
It totally messes with my head.
p.s. I’m sorry if this is so discombobulated. I have exactly 1 1/2 hours to myself while Hockey Playing Son is at camp and in that time I have to write, clean, run, do weights and stretch. I’m like SuperMom on crack.
p.p.s. I run a 10k race in three weeks and have done absolutely no distance running all summer.