Running in Jeans Again



Me with my husband, Curt, trying to
become more worldly on a trip to
Panama.

Allow me to re-introduce myself.

I’m Bonnie, who began a blog in 2010 titled “I Run in Jeans.” Who lived in a Chicago suburb at the time, and has since retired and moved to West Des Moines, Iowa. Who is a mother of three daughters and grandmother of five. Who has been the wife of Curt for 47 years. Who had a pretty ordinary Midwestern upbringing and lived a pretty ordinary Midwestern life, with the same ups and downs as everyone else. Who, for some reason, enjoys observing and chronicling the minutiae and absurdities of said ordinary life—while not taking myself too seriously.

The fact that I once blogged fairly regularly, then spottily, then not at all, is typical. In the beginning I thought, “Here’s something I can accomplish. I’ll be good at it and end up a rich and famous columnist like Erma Bombeck.” (A reference you won’t get unless you’re at least my age.) The hard fact is that that takes perseverance and drive, two qualities I may not yet have acquired. And probably won’t, because I don’t care enough. But it was interesting while it lasted, and here I am, back to give it another go. No promises that it’s for the long haul!

The title of my blog came from a time when I had impulsively decided to become physically fit. I put on sneakers and headed out for my first run around the block. My daughter Christina was there at the time, and immediately informed her sisters that Mom was out running in jeans! Jokes ensued about what the neighbors might be thinking: “Why, there goes that nice Mrs. Welsh! She seems to be in a hurry!” It hadn’t occurred to me that jeans were not considered running attire. And unfortunately, my first was also my last run; we lived on a hill, and I became uncomfortably out of breath. Somehow, I’d thought it would be easier.

This story exemplifies my life: well-intentioned, but often ill-conceived and short-lived attempts at self improvement. But I figure I’ve learned something each time. The important thing is to recognize where I fall short and keep trying. I may not see short-term results, but looking back over my fairly long lifespan, I think I’m a better person than I used to be. I’m no inspirational ball of fire, making important things happen and shaking up the world. I’m just Bonnie, trying to be a good wife, friend, mother, and contributor to polite society. In fact, if I were to have a tombstone, which I won’t because I don’t want to be buried, I would like to think my family might put “Here Lies Bonnie. She Was a Pretty Good Egg.”

And, lest that sound too self-effacing, I wouldn’t mind if it also said “No Better Mother Existed, “She Was As Funny as Melissa McCarthy,” “She Was Almost Slim Once,” "Boy oh Boy, Could That Woman Spell or What," or “She Had Excellent Grammar.” Or even, “Intelligence Extraordinaire.” Obviously my vanity is still a work in progress.