Running

So, after four children, two C-sections and about 4,237 pounds of sausages consumed, I have decided to try and shape up, in earnest. I have never been a dieter. I refuse to look at food as a ‘number’ or something to be counted upon intake, therefore exercise is my only option for mass reduction.

I hate exercise.

But I put on my old running shoes yesterday, strapped the twins into the jogger stroller and prepared for my first run since college (I really do hate exercise). I tucked a ten franc note into my inside, very discreet shorts' pocket to buy the little girls a croissant at the bakery (a halfway point for my run).

I set off. It was awful. Every step. All uphill. I hated every minute of it. But I finally reached my midway point-- the bakery. I asked for ‘Zwei gipfeli, bitte’ (two croissants, please), smelled them longingly as I handed them over to the twins, stuck the change in my inside, very discreet pocket and headed back home.

As I ran (downhill this time-- much preferred), I kept hearing a jingling. Annoying! I stopped, looked in the inside, very discreet pocket and found that my change from the bakery was gone. It wasn’t those coins making the jingling noise. I checked the zipper on my sweatshirt-- it was not the culprit either. Eh, what are you going to do? I jogged on.

At home, I was on the phone with my friend Lisa. Like most mothers, I was multitasking as I chatted, pacing around the kitchen, making lunch, chopping up oranges for Oranges and Aquavit chicken. I kept hearing that jingling. What the…? Where were those damn coins?

‘Hold on, Lisa.’ I checked the inside, very discreet pocket again. Nothing. I shook my bum. I heard the noise. Shook again more rigorously, the noise was louder. ’Lisa, I’m sorry, you’ve got to hold on again. I’ve got to pull my pants down to find some money’ (she didn't ask any questions. Lisa is that kind of friend).

I bounced into the bathroom (I was getting used to the melodic jingle-jangle), yanked down my shorts and underpants. Alas, laying there cradled in the crotch of my underpants was a five franc coin and a twenty rappin piece, making beautiful music together.

I said goodbye to Lisa, stuck the coins in the dishwasher, washed my hands and continued making sandwiches for lunch.