So, I am a runner, you know. I run.
As in: Oh, sorry I was late this morning, I was out running. Or, whew! What a great run! (OK, I haven’t actually said the latter, it’s more like, whew! I can’t believe I’m still alive! But those are just details).
All of this has been eclipsed by the fact that as of this week, my 10-month old son is a walker. He walks. Like, oh hey, I was over there by the sofa, but now I am going to walk over here, to the single uncovered electrical outlet in our house. Or maybe over here, to where the dog’s water is – oops! So my circling of Lake Merritt (and then some, I’ll have you know) doesn’t seem quite so monumental. I’ve done it before. In high school.
But baby Drew has never actually taken unassisted steps before, so it is truly a big deal. Especially since in, like, June, I was worried that he would never sit up by himself. At the rate he is going, I suspect he’ll be able to run this half marathon with me in February.

The official training has just begun, making me VERY glad I was unofficially sweating it out for a few weeks beforehand. Charlie, our 3-year-old lab/border collie mix, is also appreciative of the running and has not been holding back when he accompanying me around the neighborhood. For those of you who have met Charlie, you know that he is a very enthusiastic canine, and he is out to prove all of the people who assured us that he’d “calm down when he’s about 2” wrong. In fact, he’s even more excited these days, because since the baby came along, you can imagine how his exercise schedule has taken a backseat to diapers and naptime.

If it would not reflect very poorly upon me as a parent, I might be inclined to channel all of this walking and running into a routine where we just give Drew the leash and let him and the dog kick around the block until they’re tired while I sit on the couch icing my knees and eating cupcakes.

But of course I would never do that.