As soon as we began jogging, Henry started emitting his special low-pitched whine that provokes in me a Pavlovian shoulder creep until I look like a frightened turtle. Because I know what's coming.
We tried everything -- stopping to soothe him, stopping to pick him up, having me run in the front so he could see me, singing songs, ignoring him entirely. But the pitch and intensity of his cries only escalated.
After a mile or so, we gave up. Score one for Henry. We cut through the lawn and came to the park's big hill. Rayne wanted to get a workout in, so he said he was going to "push the hill," which left me "pushing the stroller up the hill." Henry chose this moment to elevate his whine-cry into a full-on series of screams. Strangers turned from every direction to find the source of the shrieking monkey noise. I smiled apologetically to every other person on the loop.
I wasn't self-conscious from the attention, because everyone else was also super out of shape, gasping for air and shuffling lamely up the hill along with me. (No, they weren't.)
I threw in the towel. I pulled over (no small feat with a jogging stroller whose front wheel is locked into a forward position), took Henry out of the stroller and carried him in one arm while pushing the stroller with the other. He stopped crying immediately, of course. I instantly went from being the meanest Moo Cow to his favorite Moo Cow again. Score two for Henry.
For those of you keeping track, that's 2 for Henry and 0 for Running. We will not, however, be deterred. We have lost but one battle in the long road to Staten Island.*
* That's where the marathon starts. Because runners have to go through all five boroughs, right? Don't worry, we immediately run over the Verrazano Bridge into Brooklyn to, well, get away from Staten Island.