Guess what, my thighs jiggle when I run. Yep. They do. And I don’t care. I run for me.

Guess what. I am not a professional runner. Maybe a professional toddler chaser, but not a professional runner. I am not going to win any races, or set any land speed records. Some days I huff out 14-minute miles as I push a double stroller with two preschoolers snoozing inside. I just breath in the peace and quiet- taking a moment to gather my thoughts. Other days I race to keep up with the dog, sprinting full speed. Feeling the burn in my legs and chest- which oddly feels so good and exactly what I need in that moment.

Guess what. Sometimes I listen to wordship music. Some days I pray/meditate in the cool misty air as I watch the sun come up. Sometimes I listen to music with swear words that would make a sailor blush. As I run out the days frustrations. Sometimes I share in conversations with the tiny voice I am pushing in the stroller. Conversations like “what does bumble bee poop looks like?” or “do worms have ears?” It all depends on what I need that day- because I run for me.

Guess what. Sometimes I run out of frustration. I run off my frustration I have with my kids. My frustrations with life. I run and breath in the fresh cool air, exhaling the days pain. It’s my time, I release every challenging moment of the day.

Guess what. Some times my boobs sweat. Yep. And my post baby belly. [Even though it has been four years now, it’s still ‘post baby’]. My ohhhh so sexy appearance I have on those days – My sweat bleeds through my ten-dollar Target tank until looks like the surprise face emoji. But I don’t care. Because I run for me.

Guess what. I am not going to get cat calls. I am not going to get a double take from men driving buy in their expensive cars. The soccer dads watering their front lawns and checking their fantasy football teams don’t even notice me as I huff on by. And I am ok with that! I am not running for anyone else. I am running because that is ‘my time’. It’s the time I have set aside each day for me. I can’t fill my families cup if I don’t take time to refill mine first. I need that time, even if it’s a quick few miles to refill and feel refreshed.

Guess what. Some days I stand in the driveway at 5:30pm. Shoes laced and ready to go. A dog sitting at me heals waiting for that blue car to turn the corner so we can take off. The kids sit on the blacktop fighting over a single stick of chalk, the rest of the box scattered between them. Some days I wait, at the starting gate like a race horse, waiting for that alone time. A quick twenty minutes to break away and take some time for me. Because I run for me. And me time.

Guess what. I don’t count calories, chug chalky protein shakes, buy expensive energy gels, or fallow a training schedule. I just run. I run as long as I need that day to feel better. I run as long as I need to refill my cup. I just run. Because running to me is how I reconnect. Reconnect to that person who is not a mom, wife, caregiver. She is just me. I don’t run to lose weight or for the health benefits. I run because that is what makes me a better mom. I run for me.

Yes, my thighs jiggle. I run with a sweaty shirt. I run to refill my cup. I run for me.