When I was a kid, I played soccer. Well, I was in ballet school, then little league, and then soccer. But I always talk about my soccer years when I talk about my childhood because I played for about six years. I loved it. I was always on defense because I wasn’t very fast, but I loved being part of a team. I stopped playing when I was around 12 or 13. Everyone was getting taller and stronger, and I wasn’t. I was always one of the shortest kids in my class and on my team, but once I started getting thrown to the ground by kids much taller than me, I was done.
I went on to show choir, and probably a few other extracurricular activities as I grew up, but never back to soccer. I remember in high school, my friend tried to get me to join the soccer team with her. I must have mentioned I used to play. And I remember clear as day that I didn’t want to, simply because you had to wear shorts.
Fast forward through my whole life, I was never really active again. It’s kind of a joke to me and those who know me best. I don’t like to be outdoors. I don’t like to sweat. You get the idea. And it never was a problem. Except now it is.
I have two little people in my house watching my every move. I’ll usually hang back when they go on walks with their dad and the dog. I’ll sit by the table when they play in the yard. And I’ll sit on the side when they get their feet wet in the water at the beach (on those rare occasions when we go). It’s completely normal for them that I’m not an “active” mom.
The truth is, I’m tired. I’m always tired. Between work and life and anxiety, and trying to keep our lives in order, I’m tired. And sometimes I try. I’ll go on the walks with them, and I’ll play soccer in the backyard, and I’ll run after them to play tag. And every time I do, their little faces light up. Sometimes my older daughter will exclaim, “I didn’t know you could run!” And that makes me so sad because I never realized whether I did these activities with them or not mattered.
I’m the cuddler, and their dad is the active one. But I see that I’m wrong. They want me out there with them.
They don’t just want me to watch them (although, they are 7 and 4 – half of my day is “mom, watch this!”), they want me up and running with them, both literally and figuratively.
It’s been so long since I’ve been truly active (have I ever really been??), that I don’t have the stamina, so this week I started exercising. I thought the kids would be annoyed. If I’m riding my exercise bike, I’m not snuggling with them, but the complete opposite happened. They’re my biggest fans. My youngest spent the whole time I was riding my bike shouting, “Go mommy go!” And my older daughter exclaimed, “I didn’t know you could pedal so fast!”
