A few months ago, when it was finally time to strap on the athletic shoes, and tighten up my armband, pump up the motivational music, and head out for some exercise, I had a very specific vision in my mind. It was that of a fit, tan version of me wearing a bra top and spandex shorts prancing elegantly through the canopy of trees while my longer than real life pony tail bobs left to right with the rhythm. The reality has been more like a fully dressed mom in physical recovery purposefully engaging every muscle and posture depicted in "how to run well" guides. The look on my face is strained as though it will help the calories burn faster. What I am really thinking is, "Can I make it to the next mailbox on this street?" In moments of sheer exhaustion I have found myself buying into the "walking is better for your body" propaganda. Thanks to my partner, I have not given up. We started a couch to 5k app on our phones, and through days of excitement and dread