See that sweaty, hot, messy, but smiling, girl up there? That’s me! And I just achieved a goal that I’ve been working on since before my husband died. But before we get to that, you should know something else.

This is repetitive, because you already know it, but Ash was diagnosed with cancer September 2018. Our whole lives changed. My role, as wife and mother, changed drastically. I became a full time caretaker to a dying man while still having to raise and care for my 2 young children, with, let’s be honest, a lot of help and support from family and friends. But still. It was a big undertaking. What I quit, once taking on my new role, was taking care of myself. I couldn’t find the time, or the will power, to exercise. When I did have the time, growing up Catholic and being more fluent in guilt than English, I wouldn’t because of, you know, all the guilt. I always felt I should be doing something with my children or I should be sitting with Ash because I knew our time was limited. Even if he was sleeping, which, let’s face it, that’s mostly what he was doing, I wouldn’t leave his side. And I don’t regret that. Every minute we got to spend together was worth every pound added to my ever expanding rear. I also ate like shit. I can give you all the excuses – being constantly on the road, exhaustion, emotionally drained, routine out of whack, I’ve got plenty of excuses. But the truth is, I just stopped giving a shit about myself. I’ve never been great about giving a shit about myself anyway and once all this happened, all my shits were given to Ash, Jack and Colt, with nothing left for me. (Insert violin here!) The point is, I gained a lot, and I mean a lot, of weight.

Shortly before Ash abandoned me (yes, I know I wasn’t abandoned and it wasn’t his choice and blah, blah, blah but sometimes I feel abandoned), I started working out again. I even started jogging. It was a slow start, because of all the excess baggage and all the being out of shape and my general loathing for running any kind of distance. Even at my best, jogging a mile was like torture. I could sprint, I was fast, but I could barely do 4 laps around the track without feeling like my lungs were on fire. All through our relationship, Ash tried to “teach” me to be a jogger. He said it’s all about breath control, it’s more mental than physical and the first mile is always the hardest, to which I responded, always, go f@*$ yourself, or something equally as sweet. The funny thing is, he was exactly (almost) right. It is all about breath control. It is more mental than physical. However, while sometimes the first mile is the hardest, I have found that’s not always the case.

Anyway, getting wordy again. I started jogging back in late September/early October – I can’t quite remember as all of that time is a big blur due to our lives changing forever and all that crap. I started doing 1/4 of a mile at a time, then I increased it to 1/2 a mile. My whole goal was to be able to make it 1 mile without stopping. And I did it. I slowly added 1/4 mile at a time until I could make it to 2 miles without stopping. Now, if I’m perfectly honest, I’m not great about setting goals. Ash always had goals. He always wrote them down (you know, all his note pads and lists and lists and note pads). He would then always lose/misplace what he wrote down and blame me or the kids or anyone else that wasn’t him, but that’s another story for another day. He was big into affirmations also, which I always made fun of. Seriously, when we first started dating, I went into his bathroom and there were all these sticky notes stuck to the mirror with his words of affirmation. It’s a shock our relationship continued once I saw that, but it did, obviously, and gave me so much ammunition for *my own* future jokes! But that’s just not me. I have goals. But I don’t write them down and I very rarely share them.

But today, I reached a goal. Today I ran a 5k. Ok, not an actual 5k, because Stay Home Stay Safe, but I ran 3.107 miles (actually 3.25 but who’s counting? Me. I’m counting) in my garage. Now, it didn’t come without challenges. About 3 minutes in, I realized I had to pee really bad so had to make a quick stop for that, and then, almost 2 miles in, I very sexily used my shirt to wipe the sweat off my face and accidentally ripped out the emergency stop thingy and almost slammed my face into the treadmill. But otherwise, it went off without a hitch. I ran a 5k+. And I feel proud. And accomplished. And happy. So happy, in fact, that I am going to attempt to use the grill tonight. I imagine it will be about as successful as starting the 2 lawnmowers, but I’m still going to try. Maybe it will work. Maybe it won’t. But if I can run 3.25 miles without stopping (mostly), surely I can work a grill. (Don’t worry, I’m only attempting hot dogs this first time, because I imagine screwing those up is nearly impossible.)