Run for It

I used to run. Quite often, in fact. When I learned I was pregnant with Miss Charlotte, I continued running through the first trimester (that is, when I didn’t feel too pukey), and then I finally stopped. I was too slugglishly slow, my hip alignment was off and threw my stride all out of whack, the hot humid summer had hit in full force (and you’re not supposed to run in the heat when pregnant), and really, I just didn’t want to do it anymore. By the second trimester, the discomfort and hassle didn’t make running worthwhile. (Note: My doctor had approved me continuing to run during my pregnancy. In fact, she encouraged it.) Then I had a baby, and I had to recover from what I believe is a rather significant physical ordeal. Then there was the winter and snow and breastfeeding and moving and constant taking care of Charlotte. Finally, this past weekend, I ran (heh heh) out of excuses. As I sat and nursed Charlotte, I realized that it was still very early in the morning. I could hand my girl off to her daddy and go for my first post-baby run. But I waffled a bit—what about all the chores that needed to be done? Could I really afford to take off for an hour? Then I rationalized that a healthy mama is worth more than a top-notch housekeeper, so I made my decision. I was going to do it. I’ll be honest with you. I was nervous. My stomach was actually in a knot. How much was I going to suck at this? Part of why I had put off tackling the first run was because I didn’t want to know how out of shape I had gotten. I promised myself I’d be nice to me and not beat myself up if my distance or speed lagged. I had just had a baby a few months ago, right? So I dusted off my iPod, laced up my running shoes, and told my two Hofmanns I’d be back in an hour. And off I went. I was shocked at how naturally my body fell back into the rhythm of running. It was almost instant. Encouraged, I pressed forward, inventing a running loop around Poolesville. Pre-baby, I almost always did about a 4-mile route—sometimes longer, sometimes shorter. I’m very proud to say that I haven’t lost my built-in odometer. Measuring my loop in the car later that afternoon, I learned that I had clocked an exact 4-mile route. Innate odometers aside, I will admit I did not run 4 miles. I ran 3 and walked the last one. Although I had been feeling good, when I hit the wall, I absolutely hit the wall. I started to feel peeved at myself and pushed ahead, one sluggish foot in front of the other. But then I remembered: I hadn’t done this since I had HAD A BABY. So yeah, I cut myself some slack and walked the last mile home, thinking to myself: How many men with a beer gut could have done what I just did? Not many. And frankly, giving life is a better excuse for being out of shape than Budweiser and couches. But I digress . . . Overall, I was quite pleased with myself. My body felt familiar and like it was MINE again, not just this vessel for growing a baby, fun as that was. I think a few more runs will get me pretty close to where I was before the stick turned pink, and running will become easier. To keep myself on track (heh heh again, even though I don’t run on track), I’m signing up for the local 5K race during Poolesville Days this coming September. My goal? Get to a point where I can decently compete, preferably without making a fool of myself. Ready? GO!