Here’s Why I Always Hurt Myself When Trying to Get Back in Shape

An existential pondering of my harassed hamstrings.

Or maybe my problem is that my hair just isn’t wind-tossed enough when I start my routine? (Photo by Bradley Dunn on Unsplash)

I’m sneaking some precious toddler nap time to write this, instead of doing the workout I probably ought to do. The reason? Well, hitting the publish button releases a bigger shot of dopamine than doing a dozen push-ups, that’s for sure. But also, I pulled some muscles when I went for my first run of the season earlier this week, and now I’m trying to rest them.

My exercise habits were cyclical before I became a mom, and have become even more so — or maybe I should say sporadic and unpredictable — since my son was born in the fall of 2020. Last summer, I got into a good habit of running (well, okay, jogging interspersed with power-walking, while pushing a heavy stroller) but as the weather turned colder and my son’s attitude turned crankier when a stroller outing did not immediately result in the neighborhood playground, I slacked off. I thought about joining a gym, but then I thought about COVID, and instead I knitted a bunch of stuff and convinced myself that climbing the stairs of our townhouse eight million times a day was a sufficient workout.

But now the weather is brightening, and as is my custom every year when the winter doldrums recede, I vowed to get back in shape. Or at least, get into…