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It's St. Patrick's Day, and I am wearing a ratty grey sweatshirt and faded jeans and not feeling very festive at all, but I just noticed that my running shoes have a green sole, so I'm good.

Did I tell you I'm making my husband do Couch to 5K with me? Oh yes I am. And it's as comical as you might expect.

The first time, we ran around the track at the middle school. It went better than I expected. I wasn't really expecting to run, so I was wearing jeans.
The second time, we ran around our neighborhood park. It also went better than expected, but man, if I was the neighbors watching me, I would have died laughing. I was wearing jeans that time too.

Picture this: Me, clutching my iphone, which is issuing instructions. My husband, stoically chugging along, except for when he's saying things like, "Oh, my heart!" and clutching his chest. My oldest daughter holding the dog on the leash, jogging in front of us only to stop and block the path repeatedly, causing us to crash into her, the dog, each other, or fall off the curb. She doesn't know why this is a problem. My son tails us on his bike and my youngest daughter waves us on with a fallen tree branch as we huffed our way around the park.

Tonight is workout number 3. I could change to sweatpants or something, but you know, I think I might stick with the jeans. It's going to be my thing.