That’s right—I went running today. Well, it was really more of a “run-walk” (run for 1 minute, walk for 4 minutes, repeat). To be completely honest, it was more of a “rhythmic spastic loping-walk”. The last interval I even eked out a 2:15 running length, since I was crossing paths with another runner and didn’t want to look totally lame.
My intrepid companion was with me, now that she is almost 6 months which is the official jogging stroller age (and has had the ped’s OK for two months). As is her style, she slept for the last five minutes or so and woke up when we entered the garage.
I am, ah, let’s go with a little sore tonight. Pitiful. But something had to be done about the remaining pregnancy pudge—20 minutes a day of pilates/weight-lifting wasn’t doing it, and stopping eating Junior Mints was out of the question. So running it was.
I haven’t run in almost a year—since the day before C’s 4th birthday party, when I was about 16 weeks pregnant with M and had a fair amount of unexpected bleeding. An ultrasound on C’s birthday confirmed that the edge of the placenta was bleeding (a subchorionic hemorrhage) and it might heal itself, or it might lead to a miscarriage. They didn’t know. And it wasn’t clear that anything could be done. But when I asked if I had to stop running (I ran until 32 weeks with C) the doctor said (I am paraphrasing here): “We don’t have any evidence that running will make it worse, or that rest will make it better. But if you kept running and something happened, you would always blame yourself.” Well, I stopped running, and it did heal, and now M is almost six months old and I am out of shape.
Someday, I really hope I have the time and wherewithal to train for another marathon. For now, I am hoping to do more than 7 minutes of total running time on my “run” on Wednesday.