Runaway Momma

I had given birth to a child – three children – with many more hours of intense pain than this. I had felt every measurable and immeasurable amount of suffering and it had not broken me. I had endured stitches – s.t.i.t.c.h.e.s. – in the, uh, you know, region without much more than a topical cream for the pain.  So five minutes on the treadmill was not going to kill me. My pride had already died somewhere over by the machines I’d spent way too long looking at for instructions. Any pretenses I’d carried in about being a “gym person” or even a person on the way to becoming fit had…