Guilty pleasure

Picture it.

6:15pm Wednesday night. I was supposed to be on the road 15 minutes ago and will now most certainly be late. Husband and kids are “sitting” at the dinner table staring at the meal I’ve cooked, but not had time to eat myself.

“Okay guys, mummy’s got to go.”
“NOOOOOO! MUMMY! DON”T GO! DON”T GO! MUMMY DON”T GO! DON”T GO! [In case you missed it Mummy… we said] DON”T GO”

Big, fat, f-you-tears roll down my three-year-old’s face. My 21-month-old picks up the closest chicken breast and launches it at my head. (Luckily, these days I am lightning fast and manage to maneuver myself so that it only grazes my left cheek and leaves just the faintest smudge of honey-garlic marinade.) They were pissed. Like Russell Crowe with a phone nearby pissed off.  But for their chubby fingers, Children’s Aid would surely have been called. My infraction? I wasn’t running off with the pool boy. I was leaving for two hours (at most) to go to the Canadian Running Magazine Marathon Quest group run.

Here’s a few snapshots of the ordeal:
My oldest

and my youngest

Call me David Hasselhoff, but at that moment I turned, walked out the door, hopped in the car and drove off. I’d like to say it didn’t bother me; that I didn’t think twice about it.  But underneath I felt guilty.

Let’s face it; finding a balance between life, family and running is HARD.  The simple fact is when I spend multiple hours a week running those are hours I don’t spend with my family. And sometimes, when I am at home (especially after long runs), I just don’t feel like playing the Dancing-Fairy-Princess-Doctor at Princess Peach’s beach party.

Does every parent with a passion face this? What would Woody Allen do? He seems to have bonded better than most with his kids.

As I write, my youngest is actually recovering from the shock of seeing me in glasses. Seriously, she looked at me like a stranger…I think her expression was something like “what is Julia Roberts doing here, and what has she done with my Mum?”

I guess it is possible to be away too much. For now, I’m just doing my best — trying to make my time with my family count AND enjoying my time without them. Am I doing it well? Clearly, not all the time. But I won’t give up running, because really, a fat, cranky and hostile Dancing-Fairy-Princess-Doctor isn’t nearly as much fun.

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