Rachel's Not-So-Fun RunMy husband and I live fairly close to a walking trail that we occasionally frequent.  Before you go getting all proud of me for venturing out into nature on a walking trail, you should know the “trail” is paved and completely flat. It’s more like a path.

Doing any sort of walking (except for that done from the parking lot to Chipotle) is not my idea of a good time, so walking on this concrete path is the only way I will be one with nature.

We recently decided to take our three dogs for a walk on this trail.  I would like to say it’s because we care about exercise and wanted to get our dogs some fresh air,  but I would be lying if I said that.

The truth is that we believe tired dogs are happy dogs, and this trail usually wears them out.  (It also gives me an excuse to eat S’mores later in the evening…you know…cuz I worked out and stuff.)

We grabbed the leashes for the dogs which resulted in the typical mayhem it always induces.  We walk our dogs every single day without fail.  And every single day when we get those leashes out, it’s as if it’s the first time they’ve ever been given the right to leave the house.  Barking begins and celebratory runs around the house mark the beginning of the daily walk.  I’m pretty sure there’s a fist pump (or paw pump) in there as well.

Upon arriving at the trail, we began our walk. Naturally, I began complaining about wanting to go home as soon as my foot hit the trail.  I also considered faking a leg cramp but knew my husband would see right through it.  He knows me so well.

We started walking the paved path with our dogs and did what any happily married couple in love would do while on a walk:  we watched other people.  Um, I live with that guy, I don’t need to know his every thought. (It’s boobs.)  I’d rather look at the creepy dudes walking a great dane and figure out their story and if their wives knew they’re gay.

As we finished up some snarky comments about the woman coming towards us who clearly had never met a sports bra, we saw a family approaching.  That wasn’t a strange sighting, but the fact the entire family was running was particularly odd.  Well, not the entire family…there was one straggler.  Her name was Rachel.  How do I know this?  Because her mother yelled it incessantly in between gasps of air.

Rachel was about 12 years old and she was not happy to be running.  I felt her pain, as I wasn’t happy to be walking, so I couldn’t imagine how annoyed she was being pushed to jog.  However, Rachel didn’t hide her displeasure with exercise as well as I did (probably because she couldn’t mask hers with vodka like I do).

Rather, Rachel threw a tantrum that was completely enjoyable to watch and it made me wish I hadn’t removed the snack packs from my pocket before the walk.  (Okay, I didn’t remove them, Matt did.  And ironically, the snacks I packed were trail mix.)

If a normal person didn’t want to run any longer, the logical thing to do would be to stop running (and then kick whomever forced you to run in the crotch).  Is that what Rachel did?  Of course not.  Rachel took a different approach to her uprising.  Instead of stopping, she kept running.  Illogical, right?

But she took it one step further (no pun intended).  To demonstrate her dislike for the activity, she ran off the paved path and down into the ditch about three feet below the path.  Did she stop in the ditch to catch her breath?  No.  THAT BITCH KEPT RUNNING!

What?!  Matt and I were intrigued by this behavior and picked up our pace to keep up with Rachel, who was obviously a rebel and a rogue (only far more intelligent than Sarah Palin).  We couldn’t help but cheer her on as we watched her run through the water and mud in the ditch.

She really showed her mom that running was stupid by traipsing through a runoff ditch.  I know that’s how I would get back at someone if I was forced to do something I don’t want to do.

Rachel continued to run in the mud and whimper and yell that she hated running, while Matt and I continued to walk on the pavement and laugh hysterically.  Rachel may not have been the smartest person on that trail (or the most attractive…homegirl could use a cut and color), but she was a hero in our minds.  We were just glad she made our walk more enjoyable.

Otherwise, we would have been forced to talk to each other, and that would just be crazy.