Why I Decided to Let My Husband Run the Chicago Marathon

Ha-ha. No I didn't.

I mean, he's running the Chicago Marathon, but not because I let him.

A few years ago I wrote a post about why I wouldn't "let" my husband run the marathon. I got called some names. One lovely gentleman messaged me specifically to inform me exactly to what degree I was a horrible human.

But that post was never about me letting or not letting him run. My husband asked for my blessing, and at the time I said it wasn't ideal. We had an infant and a toddler at home. I was with the kids all day, just the three of us, five days a week for eleven and twelve hours a pop. I was not about to cosign on my husband leaving us for hours at a time on the weekends just so he could put his knees through hell.

Fast forward a few years and I told him he could go for it. He didn't have to ask my permission, but he did (which was considerate of him). He scheduled his big runs for early in the morning, so that it wouldn't disrupt our schedule too much. He made sure to take the kids for at least a few hours each weekend so I could work on my on my writing or just be alone. Plus, the kids are a little bit older now and less dependent on me every second of the day.

This was never about me crushing his dreams or sucking the life from his soul. This was about compromise. This was about, well, marriage.

So now I sit there and nod along while he tells me about a particularly good run and he affords me the same courtesy when I go off on a Game of Thrones tangent. See? Compromise.

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