Having my father around is a big reminder of the heritage of genes. When I trail behind my dad, as he goes up the stairs, my eyes take in that thing I want the least to see--ok, maybe the second thing I want least to see--his butt. My father is wide through the lower extremities, his belly is full and round, his shoulders almost slope. But, when I see his butt, it reminds me of the male equivalent of my butt: long and full. I used to hate my butt. But, last night I read an article in Runners World about our prehistoric ancestors chasing prey for huge long distances, upheld in part by their enormous butt muscles. It was grounds to change may attitude about my butt. This morning, I put that bit of knowledge to the test and ran 6.4 miles. I felt strong and unwinded as I finished my run, I ran almost the entire way, taking two 30 second walking breaks. This is a big jump,in distance, as I've only been running 4 milers for the past couple months.
Better today, no unleashing of temper tantrums and cuss words. Peace reigns in the city again.
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