One in 22 million

While out running this evening, pushing Bee in the jogging stroller with one hand and dragging Max with the other, I comforted myself with the thought that I was completely certain that I was the only person in this entire country who was out jogging with a dog and her baby tonight. One person out of a population of 22 million. Those are lottery odds.

Running is not much of a sport here, beyond the bounds of track and field and training for the Olympics. It's understandable, because not much of the city is exactly jogger friendly. That whole stray dogs chasing you game gets real old, real fast.

On the rare occasion that I take both Max and Bee out at the same time, I am the recipient of unabashed stares, giggles, looks of astonishment and mild reproval, as well as honking horns. It's actually rather humiliating.

I persist, because once you are a runner, no matter how slow, no matter how few miles you actually manage on any given day, no matter how much you hate tying your running shoes and contemplating having to go out in the cold, you go. It's insanity, pure and simple.

Therefore, as my gift to all you uninspired runners out there, I give you, the ultimate eastern european jogging workout:

First, you need the assistance of another person to find the dog's leash, dress your child for the weather, find her mittens, and her blanket, carry the jogging stroller down the stairs and outside. Then, coerce your child to climb into the jogging stroller. She doesn't like the reclining position? Assure her that she will be able to better view the moon and the stars that way.

Start running. Push in front of you a 10 pound jogging stroller containing a 25 pound child for a combined weight of 35 pounds. Use as your counterweight a labrador retriever who is glorying in his middle years and is starting to take on the general shape of a tootsie roll. He probably weighs about 90 pounds. So he's pulling back while you push forward, but, we're running people!

We're running, we're running, we're stopping:

Max has to use the bathroom.

We're running! We're stopping. Bee has a question:

"Mommy? Where are the stars? Mommy? Where are the stars?"

I stop and explain why she can't see the stars. (I should not have promised the moon and the stars on a cloudy night.)

Okay. We're running!

Nope, we're stopping because of: old people walking slowly in front of us/traffic lights/"Mommy, put on my mittens"/ankle deep puddles/Max tries to drag us over to greet another dog/"Mommy? Where are the stars? Mommy? Where are the stars?"

The good thing about this start and stop is that it really gets your heartrate going. You speed up, only to stop dead in your tracks 100 meters later. It's great cardio!

It starts raining. Fortunately, Bee is wearing so many layers she doesn't really notice.

We're nearing the apartment. We're having french fried sweet potatoes with dinner and David is making them right now. I am going to eat more calories than I burned. It's Friday night.

My heart is beating in my mouth. We're almost, almost done.

"Mommy? I don't want to wear my mittens anymore."

You get the picture.