Getting Lapped

When I was in middle school, I was forced (like most others) to take gym. In high school, I was able to avoid this torture by taking dance classes instead. But, in 7th and 8th grades, I was forced to suffer the humiliation of running laps. Actually, it is more accurate to call it walking laps (aka dragging my ass around the field a couple of times). What I remember most about that experience (other than a sadistic PE teacher screaming at me to hurry up) was watching my friends lap me. In the time it took me to run one lap, they would run two or three. It made me feel so lame, so fat, and so ridiculous. I would just watch them disappear around the track. So. far. ahead.

Fast forward to my current limbo: there is an eerily similar situation happening here. While we are still working on conceiving our first baby, many of our friends are starting to try for their second child. This is completely normal and natural, yet it also a reminder of how little progress we have made in the last two years. We are definitely moving in the right direction with IVF, but still. I am getting that same sinking feeling as I did when I was 14.

As I said to His Royal Fabulousness the other day: I just have to keep reminding myself that this process is not a sprint. It is a marathon. As long as we cross the finish line, it shouldn't matter how long it takes. In the meantime, I'll have to put up with the shin splints.