I did make a couple of hilarious attempts at jogging while nine months pregnant (at-home induction, you know) but I don’t really count these. I felt too silly.

Aside from lack of sleep, lack of time and lack of a healed body, the biggest thing holding me back from running these postpartum weeks has been a fear of my boobs. No joke. How am I going to contain these things? I wondered. This is a dilemma I’ve never had to worry about before.

It’s not so much the size, but the fullness. Being full of milk and jumping around is a new pain risk I have to keep in mind, which I learned the hard way while playing a skiing game on Xbox Kinect. I’ve also read things about exercise diminishing breast milk supply if you’re not careful, and I’m not willing to sacrifice that for running.

But I faced my fear this week using these helpful tips: pump right beforehand, double up on sports bras, ingest enough water and calories. This advice trifecta has made the running and lactating issue a non-issue for me so far.

The most beautiful thing? I noticed even with the first run that my ping-ponging postpartum emotions were put in check. I feel like less of a crazy person and much more like someone who resembles me. Thank God.

But it’s not easy. I’ve been sitting on my lazy butt for over half a year and I’m toting around an extra 15 pounds compared to my pre-pregnancy self. I’m way out of shape. I’ve been taking it pretty slow with just 2-mile runs and walk breaks whenever I need them.

Though frustrating, I’ve had to rebuild enough times before to know that patience and persistence pays off and it will get better. I play the landmark mind game: don’t stop to walk until I get to that lamppost/tree/intersection etc. no matter how badly I want to.  Pushing myself this way makes each run feel easier than the last.

If I push and push until I don’t think I can push anymore, while it feels unbearable in the moment, it’s always worth it afterward.

It’s a little like childbirth in that way. I do mean a little.

This week it’s been easy to fit in runs since my husband has been on vacation and can help with the baby, but how will I fit them in when he goes back to work? Or, more concerning, when I go back to work in nearly two weeks?

Must find a way to keep at the rebuild, though, because this little monkey certainly deserves a sane mommy:

jogging stroller

The dreams started about two months ago: I’m sprinting, hard, fast, on a track or in a race, breathless and full of endorphins. Sometimes I’m swimming in a lap pool or in a lake. I’ve even been water skiing. I feel light, athletic, happy, unencumbered.

Then I wake up, and I’ve got this gigantic anchor of a belly weighing me down. Coming back to the realization of my physical body, what seemed so invigorating in my dreams now sounds exhausting and even impossible. Getting out of bed is such an ordeal, I feel a bit like Violet Beauregarde in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory when she blows up like a giant blueberry and they have to turn her sideways and roll her on the ground just to mobilize her. I rub my belly affectionately knowing this discomfort is temporary and well worth it. But I hate that the simplest things — walking a flight of stairs, unloading the dishwasher, even getting ready in the morning — make me breathless. And there are days I’d give just about anything to be able to pound out what I’m feeling onto the pavement.

I had all these great plans of being active during pregnancy. That was, of course, before I understood what pregnancy is like. I’m tired, slow-moving, sluggish, and don’t really feel motivated to lift more than a spoon for my Ben and Jerry’s. I know I should have been walking or swimming or yoga-ing, but to be honest I became a bit scared of exercise. During the entire second trimester I got strange spells of dizziness that made me nervous to even drive my car. Now, during the third trimester and months since I’ve done any real significant exercise, my mind is clearly craving movement while my body scoffs at the idea.

I saw this story today about a woman who ran the Chicago Marathon at 39 weeks 5 days pregnant and then gave birth and I was so impressed. And sad, even, that I’ve let my fitness go to total crap. It made me crave running even more.

But I’ve had to start from scratch many times before and I’ll do it again, and then this blog will no longer sit empty. I even invested in a used jogging stroller that hopefully Jacob will like riding in. Until then, I will wait, and dream, and at some point maybe put on my running shoes for a good old-fashioned do-it-yourself induction if this little one has some trouble making his way out on time. Thanks for the idea, Chicago Marathon Mom!

I am 35 weeks and 2 days pregnant, and can’t wait to run again.

Encouraged, I signed up again for Saturday’s class, this time in River Legacy Parks in Arlington with Kara and my friend Amanda. As the class started off toward the trail, I could sense the feeling that was coming but I tried to desperately brush it off. I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine, I mantra-ed. I did this last week so I can do it again this week. No problem.

I fell in love with the atmosphere. I just wanted to press onward and explore the trails, but despite my mantra I could feel it taking me under — the steamy, sickly, dizzy, want-to-crawl-out-of-my-skin sensation I’ve become so acquainted with over the past four months.

I stopped on the trail. I squatted down, defeated, with my head in my hands, trying to make the dizziness stop. The rest of the group glanced back at me with strange looks I imagined meant oh no, the preggo is going down already. I felt so embarrassed.

I pushed myself to participate in the first yoga session and headed back to the car, insisting Kara and Amanda keep going. I sat under a shaded tree and watched runners glide along the path pounding away a week’s worth of worry, feeling a million shades of jealous.

I don’t feel like myself. I feel like my body has been invaded by a Pod Person…or a Pea-in-the-Pod Person. Sometimes it feels like this little alien is sucking the life force out of me.

The problem is that I expect to be my old pre-pregnancy self. I know it’s ludicrous. But I find myself demanding the same energy, even though the alien has repeatedly sent me the memo that it’s in charge and I need to quit holding my breath. I scurry around the house doing my typical weekend ritual of cleaning and baking or whatever and tire myself sick. Sometimes I get lightheaded doing my fast walking for thirty minutes. Sometimes I come home from work and just want to go straight to bed. Dizziness or tiredness or hunger will slam into me like a freight train out of nowhere.

My body is frustrating me.

And other things are off, too. Like (not shockingly) my eating habits. I envisioned myself being some super healthy eater diligently getting in a salad several times a week and ensuring I ingest nutrition from all the food groups every day. Um…maybe if those food groups are simple carbs, Chipotle burritos and grilled cheese sandwiches with pickles.

And my water obsession is weird. I am completely enamored with drinking water and must tote it around with me wherever I go. I crave it like mad. I think it was one of my first pregnancy symptoms: water’s status suddenly jumped from obligated-to-drink to gotta-have-it-NOW! That sounds alien, right? Add spoonfuls of sugar and I belong in Men in Black.

And I feel a bit out of whack. My patience is thinner, my brain is malfunctioning, my hips, back and legs KILL me after a night of trying to sleep.

It’s not that I don’t enjoy being pregnant. Despite these complaints, I really am grateful and I do actually enjoy it. I’m very blessed to have experienced a pretty uneventful four months. I’m just struggling with some of the limitations it brings.

Needless to say I haven’t been doing my fast walking as often as I’d like. I fit it in here and there, but not on a consistent schedule. It’s on the alien’s schedule.

I’d better get used to it now. I have a feeling I’ll be on this little alien’s schedule for a long time.

I’m 16 weeks and six days pregnant, happy, but missing my life force.

“Why don’t you just do some fast walking instead?” my doctor said, after I told her about the girly cramping I’d experienced during my first preggo run in almost two months. “We’ve got a good baby here!”

This is a far cry from what I expected to hear. In fact, I was sure she’d be supportive of me jogging while pregnant. I’d been waiting out the first trimester like a good girl, after the nurse practitioner told me early on I should avoid running until I was further along. I was fueled by knowing I’d get that green light soon enough.

My doctor is really wonderful, and I know she just has my best interest at heart. But my internal reaction to this news was fivefold:

Denial – I should just do it anyway. I’ve learned from some very credible sources – the internet, baby books, the Sex in the City movie – that running while pregnant is fine!

Anger – This is so unfair. Antiquated. Old-fashioned. Overcautious.

Bargaining – Maybe I could just wog, walk/jog/walk/jog? That’s not so bad, right?

Depression – All my hard work is down the toilet. My labor and delivery is going to be tougher. My weight is going to skyrocket. This is the worst. thing. ever.

Acceptance – I’d better sign up for some 2012 half marathons. I’m going to need some insurance.

I know that running won’t cause a miscarriage. And I know plenty of women have successfully kept up running while pregnant. But it turns out that it’s just not for me, and I’ll have to accept that. The one upside, at least, is that if something bad were to happen I won’t carry the same burden I did last year when I tortured myself with what-ifs. Honestly, that reason trumps all the rest.

I really miss it. But I’ve grieved this loss, and now it’s time to move on to fast walking in my expandable pants. And maybe some yoga and elliptical-ing. I’m learning that exercise is a whole new ball game in this changing body and I’ll have to keep blogging to keep myself accountable. Then in 2012, I’ll start over again with my old friend running. Like so many times before.

Today I’m 13 weeks and six days pregnant, and looking forward to whatever comes next.

at the front of my corral

This race? Just awesome.

Great scenery: downtown, Stockyards, neighborhoods, bridges, and everything that epitomizes Fort Worth. The energy of this massive event just feeds you, even while you’re running upward on long gradual slopes (which there are a few), panting, digging really deep, and wanting to shout “Who put this hill here? Unfair!”

My favorite part, I have to say, was running through the Stockyards. The cheering spectators and the old-timey Fort Worth ambiance give you a little energy boost in the middle. However, I didn’t really have the foresight to worry about running on the uneven brick road in my Alien Shoes (Vibram Five Fingers)…that didn’t feel great.

running through Stockyards

My time? 2:00:52, says the Garmin. The official was 2:00:51, I was 68^th out of 424 in my age group and 434^th out of 2656 women. This includes some stops — my moving time was 1:57:54. (Not that I’m splitting hairs here…) While I didn’t achieve my goal of running a sub two hour half marathon, I’m still very proud of my performance.

Though for a moment right at the finish, I was a little pissed I’d come so close without actually making it. (see below)

me mad-face-ing at the finish line (behind the girl in pink)

You can “if” these things ‘til the cows come home (get it?), like, if I just wouldn’t have stopped at that last aid station for water, or gee if I just would have peed my pants instead of stopping and waiting in line for that port-a-john at mile 2 and so on. (And seriously? I peed three times between 6 and 7 a.m. to try to avoid that situation. But the cup of coffee, glass of chia fresca and sips from my water bottle went right through me. Curse my small bladder.)

ch-ch-ch-chia!

But that’s all futile, silly, and not-gonna-happen.

I used to think you should stop as little as possible while running 13.1 miles. But why deny yourself a 30 second break for water or Gatorade if it’s going to make those miles more enjoyable? Why suffer? I’m glad I took the advice of my favorite running blogger and stopped at almost every aid station for hydration, I think it made the miles better.

When it comes down to it — I thoroughly enjoyed this race. I felt like I was flying, I marveled at the beautiful steady rhythm my body fell into, and I drank it all in without paying much attention to my pace/time. I had energy the entire distance. I got a great sense of how far I’ve come as a runner just compared with the half marathon I ran in September, and there’s something very inspiring in that. Not to mention I finished almost 6 minutes faster than that one. New PR!

In other words, I kept my vow to dance this run.

All in all? Success.

Just in case you haven’t had your fill of  images of me in this post, my hubby took some great video of corral three starting off (I’m there in the front, amongst all the dudes):

Racing this weekend? Set realistic goals and avoid race-day heartbreak! Plug a recent race time into our training calculator to get projected finish times for other distances:

Training Calculator for Runners

Why yes, RW, I am racing this weekend! I can’t resist this sort of thing.

Based on a 10k time from November, my time for tomorrow’s half marathon would be around 2:05:27.

However, based on a 3 mile run from this week, my finishing time would be 1:56:53.

That would be the difference between meeting my goal and not meeting my goal of running a sub two hour half marathon. So, do you go with the more recent time? Or the time from a longer run? Or decide it’s probably crazy to base a projected time on something generalizing?

This is why I have a love/hate relationship with races. I teeter between obsessing over and relishing in them. I put a lot of pressure on myself to meet arbitrary expectations, sometimes painfully. Sometimes inhibitive-ly.

To overcome this I thought it best to consult my The Zen of Running book, and this is what it said:

there are no standards
and no possible victories except
the joy you are living
while dancing your run.
in any life
joy is only known
in this moment — now!

so feel the flow
of your dance
and know
you are not running
for some future reward –
the real reward is now!
–Fred Rohé

Thanks Fred.

Happy running. And even happier racing.

Excuse #1: I needed to let my body heal from some pretty awful blisters/chafing.

Not exactly this, but along the same lines:

I have one of these on my side, huge and a few inches below my armpit, that seemed to appear out of nowhere.  I didn’t even notice how it happened. I tend to jump in the shower after a long run with gritted teeth, unsure of which areas are going to sting like hell when they’re blasted with water, thinking: “am I crazy?”

Excuse #2: The snow and cold have sucked the life force out of me and I simply can’t muster the motivation.

Excuse #3: I can pick it up next week and be I’ll be fresh, unaffected.

Ha. Ha.

Tonight’s speed workout was an epic battle of mind over matter. I had to do some deep digging just to finish. At least my willpower is getting exercised.

I’m angry with myself for giving up a week of training, but what’s done is done and I’m only human. I’m trying not to be too critical and to make strides in the next couple of weeks before the race. Can I catch up to myself? That, of course, is the runner’s eternal question.

I mostly credit the plan I’m following, but honestly I don’t follow it to a tee. I’m strict about the runs that I feel really count for improvement (long runs, tempo runs, mile repeats) but the others I sometimes move to different days, improvise on or – yikes! – skip altogether depending on what I’m feeling.

I’m okay with that though. Some people approach running militantly: Want to improve? Run, run, and then run some more. I come at things a little differently. There’s a beauty in knowing when to listen to your body and pull back and when to not listen to your body and push, push, push. It’s a dance, an art, a give-and-a-take, which mimics life itself. I love discovering this, for it’s very personal and there is no one-size-fits-all way of doing it. With running, less is not more, and more is not more, and intuitiveness is everything. Your potential is your canvas, your body is the paintbrush, and your runs are the creation of something amazing.

“Runners often speak of pain and of course if you want that you can have all you want merely by pushing yourself beyond your limits every time you run. It’s your choice of whether you want to run to punish your self or to experience your self. If you choose, with me, the latter, then every run can be joyful…create yourself as a runner gradually, patiently, relaxedly.” Fred Rohé, The Zen of Running

Other things I’m digging lately, aside from zen-ness:

Chia seeds. I heard about these trendy and nutritious morsels before reading Born to Run and bought some to throw in my occasional breakfast smoothie. After reading the book, I couldn’t help but try the “chia fresca” drink to see if soaking them a bit really gave me more energy.

chia fresca, mmmmmmmmm

Here’s what you do to make the drink: mix 10 oz. of water, 1 tbsp dry chia seeds, the juice of half a lime (for flavor) and sugar or agave nectar to taste (optional). Stir and let sit for 10 minutes or longer. The longer it sits, the more gel-like it becomes, I’m told. I drank this sans the sugar/sweetener along with a cup of black coffee. After a 5.5 mile run, I came home and had another cup of coffee and suddenly wanted to thoroughly clean the entire house. (Key phrase here is wanted to.) I spic-and-spanned the kitchen, washed a big pile of dishes, scrubbed the bathrooms spotless, swept and steam cleaned the tile floors and still had energy after that! I tried it another day without the coffee and the effect wasn’t nearly as strong. It could have been a placebo effect, or just the coffee, but you can bet I’ll be drinking chia fresca and coffee before my next race. Is it gross tasting? you’re wondering. Nah. The seeds don’t really taste like anything. If you’re not a fan of weird textures in your food, though, it may not be for you.

Carbs. It seems obvious that you would, uh, need these to be a successful runner.  But I will admit that I’m a recovering carbophobic. I’ve lost lots of pounds on more than one occasion by eliminating carbs only to gain them all back because such a diet is pretty unrealistic to follow long term in my opinion. I’ve dragged myself through some low-carb runs in the past, and it ain’t pretty. Nor is it enjoyable. And when you gain this weight back, it comes on with a vengeance. To un-vilify carbs and embrace them as fuel has been a process for me. For example, I did my first half marathon on a totally empty stomach. No bananas, gummy bears or Gu gels for me halfway through either, no fuel whatsoever. I believe I shot myself in the foot doing this. I’ve been eating a lot more carbs this time around (especially pre-run, mostly a banana and half a peanut butter Cliff Bar), and though I’m not losing weight my running is markedly awesome-er.

Garmin. My dear husband got me the Garmin 205 for Christmas and I LOVE it. To be able to track your pace on a run and download a map of where you’ve been is greatness. It’s much more effective for timing runs than my old and very precise method of glancing at the microwave clock in the kitchen as I’m heading out/in the door.

And I can share my map/stats most places, except I can’t use their nifty embed option in WordPress because it doesn’t support iFrames, or something. Laaaaaaame. But here’s a screenshot of what it WOULD look like:

http://connect.garmin.com:80/activity/embed/65702389

That was this morning’s run, which was supposed to be a 10-miler. Whoops. Next purchase: hydration belt! Take-along water on long runs = necessary. I don’t recommend learning this the hard way.

I leave you with this obviously very professional-looking fuzzy photo I took with my Blackberry of my new favorite place to run, White Rock Lake in Dallas, because running there makes me feel very zen. Even though I have to drive almost an hour on freeways to get there.

Happy running. Namaste.

puppy love

(A post on eating meat.)

My next half marathon is in ten weeks and I’m expecting myself to run it six minutes faster than the last one. I want to break two hours. I must be crazy. I purchased a Runner’s World plan for running sub two hour half marathons to help me navigate the training for this, but who am I kidding, I’m really just hoping to PR no matter what the time.

Instead I wish I could pay someone to help me navigate the conflict brewing in my head right now.

Scene from a few weeks ago: we are driving through Muenster, Texas enjoying the quaintness and the country-ness. We pass by a pasture and I watch the calves scamper, almost hopping, across the field. It reminds me of my dog Pepe’s hop/run so much it makes me smile. I feel a tinge of warm affection for these anonymous baby cows.

And then suddenly the burger I ate for lunch is like a rock in my belly, and I’m trying hard to not think about how these things are all connected. The meal is a bomb of guilt that’s just been detonated by these scampering calves and a tangible reminder of what a hypocrite I am.

This is one of many instances lately when I’m realizing my ever-growing love for the first pup I’ve ever owned is changing my perspective on eating animals. Pepe is making me think about eating meat, I mean really think about it, the way people try not to.

There are lots of reasons not to eat animals, but a particular reason has been really making a commotion at me lately. Shouting at me. My dog is like a person to me, and these scampering calves are like my dog, ergo I’m doing something really bad by eating that burger.

I’ve started to see Pepe’s face, his mannerisms, in almost every animal I come across, like the sheep and ponies at a farm near my neighborhood. And I begin to realize it’s not so much his literal face I’m seeing but more his capacity for emotion, love, sadness, humor, affection. His…humanity, sort of.

bored

happy

Though they’re less cute and cuddly, are chickens or cows or pigs that much different than him? I read about chickens feeling so stressed out by being crammed in teeny cages they rub their chest against the wire mesh until it is completely bald and bleeding and I can’t even handle the thought of it. But even with the local free-range respectfully raised chicken I’ve been buying the common conceptions of they’re not the same as dogs and cats, we’re meant to eat them, they’re all just animals, aren’t cutting it. For me, it’s starting to feel like they’re all just Pepes and maybe I shouldn’t eat them at all.

In The Omnivore’s Dilemma, Michael Pollan says we are too blissfully and unfortunately far removed from the meat production process but we need to look, we need to make these connections, we need to press our faces against the windows of the slaughterhouses and then decide if we are okay with it. If we are, then by all means, bon appetit.

But if we’re not, we need to come to grips with that. It’s irresponsible to just…not look.

So I force myself to look. And I realize the bottom line is I hate the thought of eating animals. So why not quit prattling on about it and just stop, right? Easy-Peasy?

Meat-eating is so ingrained in our culture it’s an uphill battle to become a vegetarian or vegan and I know this from experience. It becomes like a thing, an uncomfortable-ness, a burden, and there’s nothing I hate more than feeling like I’m being a nuisance. With a meat-eating family, and lunch meetings at work, and limited options at restaurants, it’s so hard. And when I’m hungry and just want a burger, it’s so hard.

I turn those words over and over in my head, it’s so hard, and I’m ashamed at them. To realize you are becoming passionate about an idea but then not stand behind it because it’s very inconvenient? Not cool. Nothing good in this world is easy.

It was so much simpler to just not look. Morals and Michael Pollan, quit shouting at me and just let me eat my dang burger.

All kidding aside, I have been trying to eat A LOT less meat (but still seafood). I’m not exactly sure yet what road I’m going down with all of this (vegetarian, eventually, instead of confused-etarian?) but as long as I stay true to myself and know I’ve made the effort to look, that’s all that matters.

Kara, me, and our vffs

Santa Scurry 5k on December 3 = 25:32

me, kara, and our festive hats

The common PR’ing denominator here is obviously my sister-in-law. I’ve always preferred being a solitary runner and never saw the benefits of running with someone else. Until now. I’m learning other people tend to push you in ways you wouldn’t push yourself.

Plus, apparently it makes you smarter:

“…Psychologists in the US have stated that the benefits of having a training partner whilst running also include making you smarter; as you run and talk more areas of the brain are stimulated.”

It pays to branch out a little, both in running and in life.

Happy holidays and happy running.