We went to Oregon!
Ocean mischeif. All that.
If you want to see the complete awesomeness, you should check out my Instagram. I’m #tamarashazam.
But I’m not here to talk about our vacation madness. I’m here to talk about something that happened on vacation.
I went running!
(This collage is my sweaty running face and my return to still-sleeping babies and hubs)
I know. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal, but I’ve always treated vacation like it’s a vacation from pretty much anything responsible regarding health. Eat and drink as much as you want and don’t worry about the calories OR exercise. As if. Exercise? Ha ha! You get that just from walking around, shopping, being cold and sleeping uncomfortably, right?
Of course I’ve seen those ‘overachievers’ who jog around the campsite or actually used their vacation for an enduring, athletic challenge, but Bradley was the first person I ever knew who actually used the gym at the hotel on vacation. He didn’t use it begrudgingly either- no. He would come back and enthuse over or disparage the quality of the gym, the wear on the machines. If it was a good gym, he’d find opportunities to go down two or three times a day to jog the treadmill or try out the elliptical. I was dumbfounded and would hang out watching cable in the dark, air conditioned room while eating and drinking merrily. He’d return and we’d rouse and follow on to our next adventure.
But this time? I packed my running shoes and a set of running clothes. And knowing my past vacation road trip eating habits, I was determined not to come back heavier than I left (232.8). I’ve been pretty careful and I am doing well, I have to say. But part of that reason is because of running and being very intentional about making opportunities to be physical- I’ve dug countless sand castle moats, I climbed 164 stairs, I ran up hill trails, I swam in the ocean, I traversed baby powder like sand and I ran around the camping loops.
Yep, I was that guy. The one we all hate who wakes up at 7:00 and goes for a run around the campsite. The campers are just waking up, rubbing their bleary eyes, possibly hung over, and there I am jogging past them. I don’t judge, but having always been the bleary eyed one in the past, seeing me would make me turn judgement on myself, dislike what I saw and then I would wonder why that person didn’t realize this was VACATION for goodness sake! But run run run I did…
I’ll admit, I didn’t run forever. Or even close. I started out with good intentions of three or so miles but running in the campground is rough! My lungs were burning! I think the moist, ocean air coupled with extensive particulates from campfire smoke made for some thick, pea-soupy breathing. Catching my breath was tricky and my lungs were burning by about a quarter mile in. Not a lot changed after that, so I stopped right at two miles. But I did it. I ran on vacay!
The other point of interest was how my own desires and impulses have changed regarding ‘treats’ on vacation. In the past, I’ve always been that sucker who is drawn into the candy shop, who yearns for caramel corn and ice cream cones. This trip I didn’t want any of that. We went to Trader Joe’s to load up on healthy snacks before we left, but we returned with most of that stuff unopened. We went to the salt water taffy shop, but my sack is still full of taffy. I got an ice cream cone and could barely finish it. I bought cheese curds, but could only eat a couple before I felt like vomiting. It was weird. What I was way into wasn’t all the crappy junk food, it was the beach and sand castles and body surfing and playing its my kids. Not to mention digging my giant awesome pit.