The Not-As-Short-As-Planned Run

I ran today. That's a small scale miracle, by the way. Ever since I graduated high school, I've adopted an only-when-chased policy. But lately I've been kind of curious. Maybe I am a runner. Got knows I need some sort of physical activity beyond a few sun salutations a week. So, to make sure I didn't back out, first chance I got, I went by the store, got a pair of running shoes, and made my way home. 

To properly trap myself in this new scheme, I called my hubby on the way home and invited him to run with me for about 15 to 20 minutes—yes, I fully realize how very little that is. I really didn't want to over due it. Early last month I asked my brother to train me, but his workout was more than I was ready for just yet, and I woke up so sore that the training just faded into nothing after the second session. So I tell all of this to my hubby an remind him that this is a short quick run just to get me started.

By the time we're walking out the door, he's already established a route. It sounded fine, though to be honest, I was only half listening. Like I cared which way we went. Nope, just worried about getting out the door before changing my mind to that I could get through my 15 to 20 minutes. Why on earth I let him set the route for my first run, I'll never know. Apparently a 15- to 20-minute run in his brain doesn't include my walking warm up and or my walking cool down or the water stop or the multiple I-can't-breathe walks. So 15 to 20 minutes turned into something like 40 to 45 minutes. Sadist. Yes, it was a good workout, but I can already feel my thighs complaining and it's only been 3 hours. 

Argh! What part of 15 to 20 minutes was unclear?! 

Then again duh. I should've known better than to go for a run with a 26.2 man. He's so not picking the route next run.