Apparently a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, back when we first started dating, I told my husband that I never wanted to go running with him, that I thought it just sounded like a bad idea.
I do in fact, remember saying this but I had good reasons, I swear. For one, given Chris’ previous distaste for running, I didn’t want him to feel any pressure to start running just because I like to. Few things are worse than being forced to run when you don’t want to, unless, you know, you are being chased by a bear or something. And then that’s bad for other reasons.
For two, in my youth (haha) I had some interesting experiences running with men I was dating. The first is from a guy I dated my freshman year of college. We raced home once and I won. We broke up shortly thereafter.
Another, very, very nice guy I dated felt that running together should be a workout, not necessarily a good time. Ergo we didn’t so much run together as run separately, meeting up at red lights with me gasping and spitting and clinging to light poles for support. When the light turned green he’d take off and I would follow, sprinting, panting, and swearing as I tried to catch up. For some couples, this would be a great, satisfying situation, for me it just wasn’t fun.
Let me say again, this was a VERY nice guy, we just didn’t work out, in running or in life. Which makes me think, perhaps running (like camping) provides a good indicator of how well a couple can work together.
In any case, I should have known things would be a little different with Chris but I didn’t want to push it. I figured it would happen eventually but only when we were good and ready.
Well my friends. It finally happened and believe it or not it was AWESOME. For my part, it was great to do something with my husband that we had never done before, and it was so cool to see him have the experience that makes me get up and run every morning (how pretty and cool and beautiful the trails are, how good it feels to finish). Plus, I was just so proud of him for taking the plunge, for giving it a try, and for doing as well as he did.
On his side, I think he was relieved to know that fast or slow, walking or running, I still had a good time being out there with him. I think he felt how good the whole experience of running outside can be (especially on a beautiful day).
And of course, breakfast never tastes better than when you’ve just run for it. We’ve always been “get up in the morning and go for a walk” kind of people. Usually stopping on the way for an Open City croissant and coffee. But when your husband has just run outdoors for the first time, and not because he was being chased, you need to do a little better than coffee and croissants.
So we walked up to Clydes in G-Town, early enough in the morning to snag the gratis coffee cake and a booth in the back. I love Clydes, I think I’ve said that before. I have no desire to turn into an old-money east coast prep wannabe, but something about Clydes makes boat shoes and pearls seem very appealing.
Maybe its the fact that they started their own farm when the owner realized he should be serving “local and sustainable,” maybe its because its sort of a DC institution. Maybe its because Clydes is the same place where Chris’ mom and dad used to go on the weekends before Chris and his sister came into the picture. Or maybe its because everything I’ve ever eaten there has been so damn good.
I guess what I’m trying to say is never say never. Running with Chris ended up being super fun and we are going for a repeat this weekend. And, just as it was true when I used to run Saturday morning cross country practices fueled solely by the promise of a post-run trip to the pancake house, the breakfasts you run for inevitably are the best you’ll ever eat.
I’m a firm believer that yogurt with granola, honey, and fruit is the most perfect breakfast ever (although I love oatmeal too so that’s a tough call to make) At Clydes they serve the yogurt plain in a thin layer in a shallow bowl, covered by a perfectly proportioned layer of granola, drizzled with honey, and then topped with the fruit of the season. Yum, yum, yum.