Like the wind. When it's not blowing.

I went running on Saturday.

Well, "running" is a bit of an exaggeration. How about, "I went shuffling."

More believable.

This was the first bit of legitimate exercise I've gotten in many moons, and the fastest I've moved since I spotted the half-off Valentine's Day candy bin at CVS. I received the thumbs-up from the midwife to exercise weeks upon weeks ago, but the weather has been too gross to do anything. Excuses, excuses.

On Saturday it was neither freezing nor precipitating in any way, a welcome break from the norm, and June was sound asleep under Greg's watchful eye. So I dusted off the ol' running pants, grabbed a dog and hit the road.

I want to be that mom to June. You know, the one you see pushing the jogging stroller with an effortless, long, athletic gait and a look of contentment on her face. The one who has made a commitment to health and is getting her family involved. The one who doesn't complain. The one I look at and say, "Oh, come on."

June's still too small for the jogging stroller, and my gait is better described as lumbering. If I were animated, there would be little poofs of dust shooting out from my knees. As for the complaining, just ask Greg.

We set out for Crystal Lake, a round trip excursion that would log us a digestible two-and-a-half miles. I barely made it across the street when I thought, "Ok, I'm over it." Dilla, the chosen dog for this venture, turned her head toward me with this look of, "Lady, you're out of your GD element" in her sad eyes. I shot back a "Screw you" snarl, then agreed with her, and powered on.

I thought about the athletic mom I'd like to be, which served as a sputtering little boost for that first leg. I was feeling all right. Well, I was wheezing and shedding tears, but it wasn't as horrible as I thought it might be. Huffing and puffing up a hill, I indulged myself in a moment of pride.

Then I looked down.

Dilla was walking.

Her legs are about nine inches long. I've seen her move at a steadier clip while she's dreaming. Walking takes actual effort for this mutt. She looked disappointed. Ashamed. Like I just caught her licking her butthole. This was somehow worse for her.

My nose was running, the sensation of butt cheeks hitting the small of my back started to get old, and I emitted a noise falling somewhere between bellow and cough. And then there was the postpartum urinary incontinence. Kegel shmegel, I needed a cork. A passing motorist waved. I bared my teeth at him.

I thought about my inactivity, the fact that I ate a half-a-sleeve of Thin Mints with an oatmeal cookie chaser the other night, and how I get winded unloading the dishwasher. Dilla sniffed the ground as she moved. No easy feat... unless one is moving so slowly they may as well be going backward.

For June, I said to myself. It ain't about you anymore, Tubby.

Greg's in good shape. He runs, he lifts weights and I haven't spotted him licking the traces of icing out of a cinnamon roll container like some people in this house. Nevertheless we're feeling the weight of winter upon us. So much so that when I go to hug him, we usually share this exchange.

Greg: "I'm sorry you married Dom Deluise."
Kerry: "I'm sorry you married Delta Burke."

He says he's headed for giant-waisted pants with suspenders. I say I'm one squirt of Magic Shell away from a muumuu.

Visions of Suzanne Sugarbaker kept me trudging on. Dilla veered off course to sniff at an empty pint of Ben & Jerry's Vanilla Caramel Fudge ice cream discarded in a snowbank. Jealousy surged within me. She advanced several feet and then peed. Jealousy surged within me again.

I shouldn't complain, for I feel very lucky that I've returned to a weight somewhat reminiscent of the pre-baby days. I gained within the recommended weight spectrum, didn't get too big or swollen, and was out of elastic waist pants in an acceptable amount of time. Now, I'm talking weight in numbers alone. This body is completely bereft of tone. I am a Mallomar. Only somehow creamier. The first actual belly laugh I witnessed from June came when she was in her bouncy seat in the bathroom -- watching me step into the shower. I can take a hint.

I kept that in mind as Crystal Lake came into view at the end of a bend in the road. I stopped to catch my breath by a private beach and squinted to see ice fishermen dotting the expanse amid puddles forming on its warming surface.

Spring, I thought. We're getting there.

Dilla turned around, familiar with the halfway point from her runs with Greg. I straightened my body and pushed off, hitting a stride more of that athletic mom, and less of the Mallomar. It felt good to have that run almost behind me and be heading back home to Greg.

Back to June.