May 2, 2016 3 min read

My oldest child has committed to playing college soccer and now has to do some preseason conditioning.

To that end, she has decided to begin by running several miles a day, several days per week.

Because the influx of traffic on our roads in the past few years has made running something of an X Games-level activity, I offered to run with her.

Let me be clear: I cannot keep up with her. My M.O. is pretty much to jog for a while, and then I slow to a walk and suck air into burning lungs.

This method works for me, but I know it makes me excess baggage to such a fit and athletic person as she. So, to ensure that she is getting her full workout, she runs ahead of me to a set point, then sprints back to me. Then, she jogs backward at my pace, again to the set point. It keeps things interesting for both of us.

Over the weekend, we were running a 3.3-mile loop near our home.

As we left, we waved to my husband, who was busy cutting firewood, so he would know the direction we were running.

He is more worried about us being hit by a fast-moving vehicle than even we are, and he prefers to know where to start looking for us if he feels we’ve been gone too long.

We set out at a decent pace, especially considering that the entire first mile of this particular loop is uphill. I was quickly fatigued, and she had to begin the additional workout early.

I let her feel cocky about her pace and stamina, since, being her first time on this loop, she was unaware that we were about to climb an actual mountain.

I don’t know why I was so surprised when she made it about three-quarters of the way up the mountain without stopping. I was pretty impressed, though I admit that I laughed when she confided that she might vomit from the effort. I reassured her there was no shame in having room for improvement as we jogged together down the other side.

We had about a half-mile left when my husband came looking for us. He had begun to worry, he said, so he drove the UTV around our loop to find us.

He has told me for a long time that he would go on my walks with me as long as he could drive, and I must confess I have considered it when my motivation has been low.

I am pretty sure now, though, that I won’t be asking any time soon.

You see, my husband is a true farmer. He sees most things through that lens. And when he saw us running down the road, he began shouting, “Hiyah!” and “Git!” as we ran.

He was seeing us as stray cattle and was driving us home. (If there are young men reading this column, please be advised that is NEVER a good thing to tell your wife or daughter.)

She and I debated about our response and decided that simply putting in our earbuds and letting him have his fun was best. I was grateful, frankly.

I was too exhausted to even moo.

Laura Zoeller can be reached at zoeller5@verizon.net.