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| This photo isn't really relevant, but I'm doing what I like, which is of course selfish |
One of the less attractive aspects of two people bringing up the next generation of similar looking people is the way they like to shovel the guilt on top of one another. When the children are mere anklebiters, escaping them for a while is bliss. Yet for a mother to admit this means another shedload of guilt on her shoulders. Even when that mother is granny-aged, like me, and her youngest is 16 years old and more than able to look after herself, the guilt still keeps coming.
What on earth has this to do with training seriously? The fact that running, being a major source of happiness, fulfilment, friendship, social life, is resented by those who would rather see the runner at the centre of home and hearth. My husband once said to me, in the middle of a row about why I was so seldom home,
'you love running more than me.'
I agreed that I did. I know that missing a planned run leaves me tetchy. Feeling well and not being able to run because of pressure of work or domestics is a nightmare. And nothing gives me the singing inside feeling more than an early morning run in sunshine.
I don't love running more than my children. I want their happiness more than my own. They think my devotion to running is hilarious, but they know how important it is to me, and they're proud of my achievements. Yet they are still, at the grand old ages of 24, 21 and 16, held aloft (metaphorically) by their father as reasons why a mother should not spend so much time and energy on a fitness regime.
When the last one has left home, will the guilt shovelling finally stop?
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