One of the big reasons why I like running skirts so much is because of the ability to cram tons of “stuff” into the pockets – gels, MP3 player, iPhone (if the pocket is sturdy enough), keys, etc. I absolutely despise having to carry anything in my hand – water bottle included. Down here on the gulf coast where it’s so brutally humid (it really is a different kind of hot here than anywhere else I have lived), it’s not a great idea to go out running in the summer without water, but because I hate carrying things so much, I stash water bottles behind bushes and/or pick routes that carry me close enough to golf course bathrooms with water fountains so that I don’t have to carry water. I can’t even stand to carry those little 8-ounce bottles. So it would stand to reason that having to keep my hand on the Baby Jogger might aggravate me.
Gone are the days when I could just drop Sarah Kate off at school and head out for a run unencumbered. Now I have to bring Nathan and the Baby Jogger with me, plop his car seat into the Baby Jogger, strap it down, and head out. Loading the jogger in and out of my car trunk isn’t much fun, either, because while it does fold down, it’s still quite bulky (and it definitely isn’t lightweight). The worst part, though, is that it is pure torture to push that thing. The wheels glide smoothly, so no complaints there. The brakes work fine, so no complaints there, either. Pretty much everything works as it was intended, and it really is a great invention, except for one thing: I can’t stand to have my hand on it when I am running.
For some reason, I can never get into a good groove while pushing it. BOTH of my arms want to swing, but only one is allowed to do so at any given time. I’ve tried pushing with one hand and I’ve tried pushing with both hands (Nightmare! I felt like my legs weren’t working right!) What I always end up doing is alternating back and forth between my left and right hand every few minutes (ok, not really every few minutes – it’s probably more like a few seconds). It’s enough to make a three mile run seem like twenty. I silently curse the Baby Jogger as I move down the road.
There is one really wonderful thing about the Baby Jogger, though. When I put my little guy in it, I can see his sweet face looking up at me. For the first five minutes or so of the run, he looks intently at his surroundings as we plod along. For the next five minutes, he continues to look around, but his gaze is interrupted by heavy eyelids, closing for longer than a blink. After those first ten minutes, his eyes close completely and he’s down for the count. At that point, I get to watch his sweet face as he sleeps for the rest of the run. Awesome.