Thoughts {A Three Things Thursday post}

1. I taught my last class of pregnancy on Wednesday. Barbell – my favorite. And, to make sure we went out with a bang, I picked some of the hardest tracks. There was a squat/lunge track that had lots of pulsing lunges. We did a chest workout with uneven push-ups using plates. And there were the little tweaks I made to abs with dipping planks.

The best part on the planks? I got to watch.

Turnout can be hit or miss on Wednesdays but it was a hit this week. As a farewell for now, it was quite satisfying to get a good group of people to drip with sweat – and keep up with them at 39 weeks.

2. That said, I haven't worked out beyond teaching my classes. I've been torn on getting making the most of my last days and relaxing before chaos becomes me. Mother nature decided for me, though, as we've had rain all week. Seriously. I had walking shoes packed for today but it went from drizzle to light rain to storms between getting Miles in the car seat to go to daycare and giving him a hug goodbye. So, I went to Walgreen's and bought some hair ties.

A note on hair ties: Where do they go? Now that my hair is long enough to pull up, I can never find a hair tie. The ones I do manage to put in the proper spot seem to get stretched out within five uses. I need to take out stock in scuni, I swear.

3. Even though I managed a run a few weeks ago, I haven't felt the itch to head out since. Those 3 sweaty miles on the treadmill were what I needed. It was like the perfect three bites of a rich dessert after a good meal. You box the rest it up and take it home for later.

And, let me tell you: I can't wait to dive into that piece – in 4 to 6 weeks.

I may or may not have gone a bit of a shopping binge this week just to make sure I'm ready.

From the ACTIVE GearUp shop, I nabbed a last season Oiselle tank. (Disclosure: I did receive a credit to the shop through my relationship with Active.com to use at my discretion.) A new tank meant that I had to have matching socks and, you know, the Pro Compression socks of the month (note the plural) bot have orange. I was going to go with the Aqua Swirl and be good ... but ... yeah. I saw the Orange Boom in the side panel. I tried to decide and I couldn't.

So I got both.

Had I been smart, I might have placed the order earlier so I could put them in my hospital bag. The Pro socks are 1 million times cuter than the ones the hospital will give me post-C-section and though I have some with my things, there's nothing like a new pair.

Note: You can use the code BOLD to save 40 percent on the socks of the month and Pro Compression's Boston sock.

And while I'm on the ambassador train, Nuun has free shipping through Sunday. What better reason to stock up?

Share some random thoughts. Please. I'll appreciate them when I'm bored and nursing.

Up In The Gym ...

Just working on my sanity.

Photo taken at 36 weeks. I'm now at 38 and change.

The comments I get when I walk into the gym usually fall into two categories: You Go Girl and How Do You Do It.

My answers are, respectively, thank you and because I need to. I usually leave out that my exercise routine is not as "hardcore" as I had envisioned when I found out I was pregnant. I'm not running 20 miles a week or getting in six days of workouts. My motivation is moderate, at best, and my days of early mornings are few and far between.

My views on my fitness right now have definitely been shaped by social media, having allowed myself to be sucked into the comparison trap and the idea that I need to be some kind of bad ass. But, my friends, bad ass has left the building.

Instead, here's how things have been looking for the past couple of weeks.

Monday: Barbell class

Tuesday: 40 to 45 minutes of cardio, usually incline walking on the treadmill or walking outside

Wednesday: Barbell class

Thursday: 40 to 45 minutes of cardio, usually incline walking on the treadmill or walking outside. I also lead boot camp in the evenings and usually do the warmup and part of the workout with the class.

Friday: Rest

Saturday: 45 to 50 minutes of cardio

Sunday: Rest

Last week, I skipped my Tuesday workout because of the version. I had intentions of making it up on the weekend ... and, yeah. Didn't happen. I felt bad about it for all of 5 minutes.

Despite the schedule not being as impressive as I hoped, I've been especially happy with how well I've managed teaching barbell. I've had to take some modifications, performing push-ups and planks on my knees, and I don't have full range on bentover rows or clean and presses. However, save for squats, I'm lifting the same weight I did pre-pregnancy.

And speaking of squats ... my range is much different, probably because of all the relaxin. I might not have 25 kilos on the bar but I still feel sore after class because I can get deeper with better form.

I am on the schedule at the Y through next week so unless a baby comes before that, this loose plan will be in place through 40 weeks.

After that, well, it's baby time.

All Things Considered

It has not been my week – for so many reasons.

Miles has been sleeping terribly. I have been sleeping terribly, if at all. The external version, which left me battered and bruised, did not work. Today, at my 37-week appointment, I scheduled my second C-section.

There have been other things, too. Things that I can't share here, in such a public place. They aren't life changing or earth shattering but during this week, they felt like it.

And so I've spent most of my waking hours in a mindless fog, teetering on the edge of crying and screaming. Sometimes falling into the pool of emotions, no matter where I may be.

But, on Thursday, I received a gift. It was unexpected. Beautiful. And exactly what I needed.

I was able to run. It wasn't fast nor far but my heart pounded, my body sweat, my mind cleared. For 42 minutes, I was able to put distance between myself and the thoughts clouding my brain.

I wasn't so sure I had another run in me. It had been six weeks since I had been sidelined by piriformis syndrome and as recently as two weeks ago, I couldn't even trot to keep up with Miles on his tricycle. A step with any acceleration triggered the pain in my right glute, and I immediately slowed to a walk.

But on Wednesday, I was trying to cross the street to get to my car after work. The break in traffic was small and, without thinking, I jogged to the opposite sidewalk. I didn't realize what I had done until I was opening my car door. I had ran, in ballet flats, without pain.

Could I do it again?

After a rough night, I knew I needed to do something for me. I dropped off Miles at daycare and headed to the Y. The game plan: Walk a 10-minute warmup on the treadmill and do a version of my favorite workout – 1 minute intervals with 2 minutes rest. I would jog the intervals at 5.0 and walk at 3.0.

I was nervous when I hit the button for the first interval. What would it feel like? Would I be able to do it? Even if it didn't hurt, where was my fitness at?

It seemed like it took forever for the belt to speed up. I needed it to hit a running pace, to see how it would go. And it went ... I mean there was an awareness there but it was tightness from weeks of sitting. It wasn't pain.

I was so focused on mechanics that by the time the clock hit a minute, it barely felt like I had done something. I decided that I would change the interval, at least this time, to 2 minutes running and walk 3 minutes. But a good song was on, and I felt strong. When I saw the display go from 1:58 to 1:59 to 2:00 ... well, I just couldn't stop.

I would at 3 minutes, though, I told myself firmly. I hadn't so much as jogged 30 seconds in 6 weeks and here I am at 37 weeks pregnant. Let's be real – and safe, yo.

I repeated the 3 minutes jogging interval, with 2 minutes rest, four times. My workout was at 30 minutes, and I figured that I could do 40 and sort of make it to work on time. For the fifth interval, I'd jog until I couldn't and then cool down.

But the cool down never came. I just kept running, to quote Forest Gump. The feeling in my butt changed but never grew and my gait never changed. My arms swung, my breath deepened, my gaze turned sharp as I looked through the floor to ceiling windows at the downtown traffic.

At 42 minutes, I pressed stop. I had hit 3 miles, running the last 1.02 or 1.03 – maybe a bit more. I wiped my brow and clumsily reached for my locker key. A sip of Nuun. A deep breath. I steadied my hands on the rails and stepped down.

I waited for the pain but all I could feel was elation. For 42 minutes, I had felt like me. I had found her underneath the belly and the boobs, the bitterness and frustration. She was still there. No matter what happened, and lawd did things happen, I had that to hold onto. To pull me back.

Tuesday.

"I'm not sure how it's humanly possible for someone to pee so much."

As I lumbered to the bathroom at 2 a.m., the fourth time since getting to bed at 9:30 p.m., it's all I could think about. Pee, why is there so much of you? WHY?!? I just want to sleep.

I get it – the whole pregnancy thing. The baby could have been sitting on my bladder. He could have been hosting a rave in my uterus and his glow stick hit my bladder. He could have been fist pumping into my bladder or doing an Irish jig on it. He's saucy already so I wouldn't put it past him. But, it's not like I woke up with a sensation and dribbled out a few drops in frustration.

No. It was not. I was in a full on pee at 2 a.m., Jimmy Dugan style. And it was making me angry. Irrationally so. I told myself that it wasn't worth it and in just a few weeks, the middle of the night peeing would be over.

I got back into bed and felt underneath my pillow. My phone. It was still there. Before my eyes drew shut, I considered turning off the alarm. Otherwise, it would wake me at 5:05 a.m. I fell asleep before I decided.

◊ ◊ ◊

There was no second guessing when I heard the ring. I knew I wouldn't sleep any more, and there was the urge to pee. Again.

I turned it off and headed downstairs, Denali in quick pursuit. I let him out and went about my routine. Go to the bathroom, slip on sports bra, put on socks. A shirt. Tie shoes.

And there were things not routine – grabbing my phone and checking to see whether there were new podcasts available for download; grabbing a pair of headphones from Mark's backpack; straightening the links of the leash. We were going to walk.

Or, apparently, I was going to walk. Denali saw the leash and bolted up the stairs. If dogs had the ability to give a middle finger, he would have done so as he moved faster than he has in weeks. And then he would have howled. With laughter, obviously.

"Fig it," I thought as I threw the leash on the couch. It will be just me and the road. And Jillian Michaels.

◊ ◊ ◊

I rarely listen to music when I run – even on the treadmill. It seems like such a hassle most days. That said, I do appreciate it when I need a distraction or motivation. Though I need both for a walk, I can't listen to it when I head out. Maybe it makes me want to run too much or maybe the beat is too fast for the 36-week waddle.

Podcasts and audiobooks are made for walking, though, My current audiobook is "All the Light We Cannot See" ... but it's on disc. As I no longer have a discman (sad times), I was grateful I had a new Jillian Michaels podcast.

I wound around the neighborhood, on what would have been a short loop just a couple months ago, and tried to drown out the boredom with talk of friends vs. stalkers and cake balls. Time passed slowly, giving me time to note the piles of ice still there, despite recent 50-degree days, and wave to other early risers. I even gritted my teeth to say "Nice job" to a runner moving so smoothly and quickly that I sort of wanted to throw a stick at him.

He said, "Hi." He didn't hear my pleasantries through the music playing in his ears. And so when he passed me again, I didn't give him any praise. I looked down and tuned into Jillian.

◊ ◊ ◊

I came home hungry. It might have been the cake ball talk or the baby. It certainly wasn't a sweat equity or calorie deficit.

A mix of canola oil and butter sizzled in the skillet as I prepped my breakfast – a slice of rye toast and two fried eggs. If only I had bacon, I thought, thinking of my dad and the way he would cover his eggs in black pepper. He'd dip cut up the eggs and scoop it up with bacon, soaking up the remaining yolk with the toast. Rye, often, as it's a Cincinnati staple.

I scrounged in the pantry till I found the pepper. Shake. Shake, shake, shake. Shake. I nearly sneezed ... and peed myself.

Redefining Fitness in the Third Trimester

"You're still pretty impressive."

I turned around to see one of my favorite smiling faces, standing near the stationary bikes. I had just finished a hill workout (read: walk) on the treadmill, and I was getting my purse out of a cube locker.

"Thanks. I'm slowing down a bit," I told him. "Just gotta keep moving."

"Exactly," he said.

As I walked down to the locker room on Thursday, I mentally kicked myself for not fully accepting the compliment. The gentleman was being nice – and supportive. It was the same thing that he had done on several occasions over the past few months as I've opted for the treadmill over the roads for safety. The other times, I know, I had been more accepting and grateful.

The difference was how I felt about my workout. On Thursday, I walked. The other days I had ran. On Thursday, though grateful that my piriformis syndrome had improved, I was not satisfied that I was walking. I did not feel proud of my 40 minutes on the belt.

When I was running, I felt challenged. I felt accomplished. And, to be frank, I felt smug. It was easy to take a compliment from that gentleman after a run because I felt like I earned it. Maybe, even, I felt like I deserved it.

The 30 days since my piriformis got angry and screamed at me have been challenging and humbling. I had gone from a bad ass mother runner to someone struggling to walk to someone who feels OK but not 100 percent. I have felt so many emotions – excruciating pain, hope, despair, fear, relief.

Most of all, I felt disappointment.

When it came to this pregnancy, I had some high expectations. I came into it in good shape and determined to set my own (doctor-approved) rules for running. I wasn't going to cut back because it was expected nor was I going to slow down until my body put on the brakes.

It was an approach that helped me achieve things for which I could be proud: running my second fastest half marathon and another sub-2 four weeks later; running a sub-9 pace at the Gingerbread Pursuit; and maintaining what I considered to be respectable mileage until that fateful run.

However, the success also allowed me to be far too driven by the numbers – something I would not advise to anyone whose body is loaned out to the whims of a growing fetus. I had gotten to the point where I not only thought it would be nice to run the day I gave birth but I expected it. Not only that, I think there was a part of me that thought I should because I needed to prove something – to myself and others.

A stupid notion. Insanely stupid.

And so as I take stock and look ahead to how I'll spend the next five or so weeks, I know that one of the most important things I will need to do is redefine how I view my fitness. I can't quantify by miles ran or paces hit.

But I can qualify it.

I can move with intention. "Shopping is my cardio," the wise Carrie Bradshaw quipped. And though I'd love to call a trip to Kohl's a workout, it's not – even if I let pretty things distract me while lugging around a slow cooker. I can set aside time to walk, cycle or lift heavy(ish) things for the purpose of raising my heart rate, improving my mood and dripping some sweat.

I can move with purpose. This sentiment is one that hit home when I did Silver Sneakers training. Many of the exercises that are incorporated into a Silver Sneakers session are designed to improve the ability to perform activities of daily life, such as putting on sweaters, reaching for something in a cabinet and buttoning a shirt. These folks aren't exercising for a ripped body, bragging rights or ego. They are doing it to live a better life.

I can – and will – do exercises that will help my piriformis and, as such, strengthen my hips for labor. Bicep curls will get me used to lifting a carseat. (How can a 6-pound baby feel like 60 pounds? Put him in a car seat!) I will give myself bonus points, not the brownie kind, for forgetting to change weight for arms during barbell and getting in some extra training. Woodchops are great mimic for the motion of picking up a baby out of the crib and putting him on your shoulder. However, there's no simulator for spit up.

I can move free of judgment. The gentleman at the Y didn't care that I wasn't running, and 98 percent of the general population does not think less of me for doing low-impact exercise. And if there are people on the interwebs who don't think I'm doing enough, that I'm enough (a lifelong fear), then it's because of the ridiculous expectations that have been established by the disordered beat Ms. Jones mentality. (Sadly, I wonder if I'm a contributor.) I am going to do the best thing I can – be me – and be accepting.

Happy.

Proud.

Period.

It's in the Bag: Packing for the Hospital

"You wouldn't run a marathon and not eat anything, would you?" she asked.

I nodded my head enthusiastically. "Heck, no!" I thought. "I have fun planning out my fuel for the marathon." But, as I looked around the room at the seminar hosted by my provider, "Perspectives on Childbirth," I didn't see many others in fervent agreement. I might have seen more looks of bewilderment than understanding, actually.

Was I the only marathoner there? Or was I missing running so much that I welcomed any mention of a distance race?

Regardless, the references to labor being like a marathon were many that day. We needed the right gear. We needed to hydrate and fuel well. We would hit a wall but could break through. Most of all, we needed to stay focused and positive.

The approach to the childbirth from my midwives and doctor helped me make sense of everything and feel more confident about my decision to not only pursue a TOLAC/VBAC but a natural birth. It's also making it easier for me to prepare for the whole she-bang.

Take my hospital bag. Now that I'm 35 weeks, it's recommended that I'm packed and ready to go.
Here's how I've applied race day advice to packing.

Don't wear the race shirt 

Advice: Once admitted, hospitals like to give you the standard issue gown – the one that's open in the back for all to see. One of the midwives recommended bringing our own nightgown, one that is crack out, to encourage walking during labor.

What I'm bringing: A $10 Walmart nightgown that I took to the hospital for Miles' birth. I had intended it for post-birth then but it's big enough to accommodate my belly now. And, since I've worn it over the past four years, I know it won't chafe :)

Don't forget the throw-away clothes

Advice: There's a lot of time spent milling around the start line before the race begins. You should be warm and comfortable but, at the same time, not wear anything you feel attached to. More than likely, it's going to be left at the line never to be used again.

What I'm bringing: Slipper socks and a knee-length jersey robe. I bought both for Miles' birth and though they are comfy, they cost less than $10 total at Walmart. If things get on them, throwing them away won't keep me up at night.

Hydrate well

Advice: Labor is a physically demanding process, and it is paramount that a woman be well hydrated – just like for a marathon. However, many doctors will restrict what a woman can eat and drink after being admitted. "Nothing by mouth" is often the rule. However, my practice does allow us to eat and drink, and they stressed that consuming liquids by mouth – especially those with calories – will help keep up energy levels.

What I'm bringing: Nuun. Obviously. It's not calorie dense but I know it does well on my stomach and I like to drink it before, during and after a workout. I also like it just because. I ordered a four-pack of Fruit Punch and grabbed a new water bottle just for my hospital bag. It's my "birthing Nuun," a label that makes Mark roll with laughter.

Fuel properly

Advice: On the same lines as drinking, you need calories during labor to keep up energy so you can push. Furthermore, some researchers have concluded that not maintaining nutrition can be detrimental to the mother.

They further stated that nutritional deprivation causes maternal distress, an unbalanced nutritional status, and increased pain in labor. Current study results indicate nutritional deprivation did not ensure low stomach residue or acidity, and when combined with the decreased use of general anesthesia in modern obstetrics, the concern for aspiration risk does not provide a sound basis for the implementation of withholding food or fluid from the woman in labor. {Source} 

My practice advised us to eat a meal when labor starts, something that will taste good but not upset our stomachs, and to bring easily digested snacks to the hospital. One midwife suggested M&Ms, pretzels, applesauce, nutrition bars and eggs.

What I'm bringing: I don't eat eggs before a race – with good reason – and so I won't be eating them during labor. I'm bringing candy orange slices, gummy bears and some nutrition bars. The hospital also has a snack station for dads, and I fully intend to raid it for myself.

Post-race comfort

Advice: Who wants to mill around in sweaty race clothes after an event? Not me. Hence, the necessity to check a bag. The leader of our hospital tour on Saturday told us that the only thing we really needed to bring to the hospital, clothing wise, was something to wear home. There are gowns available that accommodate breast feeding, she added.

What I'm bringing: I'm not so into the paper blue look so I'm bringing teenie-bopper "yoga" pants ($3 clearance at Walmart) and nursing tanks.

Other essentials

Advice: Bring everything, bring nothing. I've read minimal lists and 10-page ones, as well. The practice offered no real suggestions.

What I'm bringing: Bikini, if I decide to get in the whirlpool to labor; coming home outfit for baby boy; phone charger; NAAWK lip balm and lotion, for the dry hospital; hair ties; toiletries; trash bag to sit on in the car; copies of my birth plan; and a good attitude. 

For the mamas out there, what else should I bring?

Winter Skin Care Tip + Other Randomness

I am not sure it's possible to tell you how excited I am to see this:

Yes, my friends, that is the forecast for Fort Wayne. It's a forecast that includes low temperatures warmer than the highs we've had this week. It's ridiculous and well deserved.

As much as I look forward to watching Miles ride his tricycle after dinner and taking walks, I'm most anxious to see an improvement in my skin. It is dry, cracked and almost permanently red. If I was more ambitious and had less respect for you, I'd take a picture ... but I'm only half-way through my {decaf} latte and want you to continue reading.

So, no picture.

I think the only thing that has saved my skin is a tube of NAAWK medicated lip balm that I keep in my front console. Every time I get in the car, I apply the balm to my lips and then the worst spots on my hands, mostly the knuckles. It's probably unsanitary, so I apologize, but the balm gives my hands the protection they need on mornings like today when it is 10. TEN DEGREES on March 6.

Whatever. Moving on.

Feed me. We usually pick up dinner or go out to eat on Fridays. However, we're going out to lunch tomorrow after our hospital tour, and Mark and I deemed it prudent to eat in tonight. The only hiccup in this plan, as I discovered this morning, is that we have no food. After we cleaned out the fridge, ahead of garbage pickup, all that remained was bare shelves. I used the last of the jelly this morning for Miles' 300th morning snack – a PB&J – because it was either that or a second bag of fruit snacks. Let's just say that I'm going to have to do some serious planning and list writing before I hit the grocery this weekend.

Rest up. Also on the agenda this weekend: Sleep. We had a sick dog this week, and we were up two nights with him. The night that Denali seemed OK was also the night that Miles decided to be awake for two hours. It happens, it's life, it's not the end of the world ... I know. And I recognize it's going to get a whole lot worse soon but dang, it was rough – and it showed on my face.

Big time. My fatigue hit me big time during my Thursday night boot camp slot. I was on the mat leading a stretch, and my eyelids were so heavy that they shut. Thankfully, I didn't actually fall asleep. For long. Maybe just a few seconds.

An aside, every time I walk in for that class, the instructor of the outgoing session likes to tell me how much bigger I've gotten. Yes, I am bigger this week. It's called GROWING A HUMAN. Dude is gaining a half-pound a week. What am I supposed to do? Suck it in.

That's all for now, friends. Happy Friday! And Happy Last Work Day of the Longest Week Ever!

How did your week fare?

Tail End: 6 Ways I've Turned Into My Grandma

Injury update: My bum is still bum. But, it's being less of an ass than it was.

I have ditched the crutches that I so required Thursday and Friday. I no longer wake up in pain and can walk a few stiff steps before I start to feel the pain. I can take steps without crying though the further in the day it is, the more I wince. For the most part, the pain is now local to just the right cheek and no longer radiates to the lower back, hamstrings and into the calf. The credit goes to rest, as much as I can get; PT-prescribed exercises and stretches; and some posture modifications.

But the experience is still frustrating. Most everything I do involves some level of pain or discomfort and a lot of things require planning and thought. Things as simple as getting in and out of the car.

I am channeling my inner Grandma, though, and trying to see the positive ... or at least not feel sorry for myself. I think I'm doing it so much that I might, well, be turning into her.

Happier times (read August) when my only complaint was that it wasn't 80 degrees on the lake. I could also see my toes.

1. I say things like, "As long as I can hold onto the cart, I'll be fine." I did this at Target and Menards over the weekend. My grandma uses the cart instead of a walker, and I used the cart to help take some of the weight off my leg.

2. I had to have a therapy session to learn how to get in and out of bed. I also had to get tips on getting in and out of a car. My grandma fell three years ago and the medical complications that ensued left her with little strength. She had to learn how to use her good side to get up and out of bed. For me, I have to avoid agitating the piriformis and, as such, get out from certain positions in a similar manner. To get out of bed, I use my heels to push myself to a side-lying position. I use my upper body to push to sitting. The legs, then, swing over the edge and I scoot bottom till it's nearly falling off before putting my feet on the floor.

3. The first steps are always the worst. I think that I have some problems with stiffness because my gait is altered. So, even if the step doesn't hurt, my body doesn't know how to move. If I can get a few steps in, usually I can build some momentum to get where I need to go. I have seen, on occasion, too, where some prolonged movement can work out the kinks ... or I become more used to the pain.

4. I sometimes do things that I probably shouldn't because I forget that I'm hurting, like going to the basement to do laundry and then trying to take stuff upstairs to the second floor. My grandma, on the other hand, likes to move around without her walker because she left it in the other room. And because she's sassy and stubborn. I guess I get it from her.

5. Breathe in the good, breathe out the bad. My grandma is no yogi as I'd call her more religious than spiritual but her No. 1 tip during stressful times has been to breathe in the good and breathe out the bad. When the butt is screaming, I focus on inhaling and exhaling and visualize the pain leaving my body.

6. Change what I can – my attitude. My grandma often quotes the serenity prayer, and I'm fairly certain it's her way of getting through her struggles. I was a bit ridiculous in my reaction to the idea of not running but I've warmed to it a bit in the passing days. Don't get me wrong. I want to run. However, the down time will allow me to shift my focus from feeling like I'm not running enough or running too slow to being glad to just run. As I approach these last eight weeks of pregnancy, I think it will be an important mindset to adopt.

Also, it's been friggin' cold and dumb outside. If I had to pick a good time to be sidelined, I sure did. As I pedaled on the recumbent bike on Saturday, my friends ran in –8 windchill, faced 43 mph gusts and experienced white out conditions.The bike stunk, being inside didn't.

Grandma agrees. On the weather being dumb, that is.

Down But Not Out

Limping out of the office, two things were abundantly clear:

• I forgot to put on deodorant that morning. Apparently basic hygiene becomes complicated when I'm not living out of a gym bag.

• I am suffering from classic piriformis syndrome.

Neither "revelation" was particularly great (though one could be solved more easily) but I did feel more hope than I had in the past 48 hours, after my right glute seized on Wednesday's run. Those hours had been filled with pain-filled steps, tears from said steps, frustration, tears of frustration, 3.421 episodes of "Property Brothers" and frantic Internet searches that alternated between piriformis syndrome and sciatica.

Dr. Google diagnosed me with sciatica by Thursday night. It might have been the shooting pain when I went up steps or the fact that an amazing massage by JC on Thursday helped for all of 3 minutes, when my glute seized again on the walk out to the car.

Silly old me was sure that the session with JC, who looked a bit like Michael Clarke Duncan, would be the miracle I needed. I was sure his stature meant he had the strength to get into the problem and his initials ... hello, JC – just like another miracle worker. He wooed me with tales from studying in China and a grandson named Miles. Fate? I think so. The massage was great but it just wasn't the answer. (If you are local and need a recommendation, let me know.)

The sudden onset, too, had me leaning toward sciatica. I had not experienced any pains in the butt save from hip bone soreness, equal on both sides, prior to the run. Le behb could have easily moved, got on my nerve and caused the problem.

Friday morning, I called the office of my doctor/midwife. I was hoping they would have some good drugs but instead they referred me to a therapy practice in Fort Wayne that focuses on women. The therapists specialize in pelvic floor problems and other issues that arise during and after pregnancy. I was dubious at best, as my previous physical therapy experience didn't have me sold. You spend a whole lot of money to have someone watch you stretch. You are told to do those stretches at home and then go back the next session to have them watch you again.

Note: I know it's more than that. I have not lost it ... not completely.

But I was desperate and needed answers, so I went.

The appointment was fairly standard – including the half-hour wait. The therapist, who was being shadowed by a student, guided me through a series of assessments, which included engaging the transverse abdominis, bending forward, bending backward, lifting knees and reaching side to side. We reviewed my symptoms, where the pain was located and at what level during each test. Afterward, the therapist asked the student what she thought.

"It's just like the pregnant woman we saw before," she said.

"Classic piriformis syndrome," the therapist replied.

So, I'm not the only one, eh?

The piriformis is a small muscle that lies under the gluteal muscles in the buttocks region. When this muscle goes into spasm or becomes hypertonic, it may compress the sciatic nerve, causing low back pain or numbness that radiates down the leg, and is generally felt only on one side. This condition is known as piriformis syndrome. Other symptoms may include a deep pain in the hip or buttock, tight and painful hamstrings and calves, and tense pain and decreased range of motion in the hip. ... 

During pregnancy, the pelvic floor will shift gradually to accommodate the baby as it develops in the womb. While in the early stages of pregnancy, the body releases a chemical called relaxin, which relaxes the pubic symphisis (pubic bone), surrounding ligaments, and joints in the pelvis. The release of the relaxin allows the entire area to widen, allowing an increase of space for the baby. This can increase stress and strain on the sacrum (tail bone), where the piriformis attaches, causing the muscle to tighten over time until it is in a constant state of contraction.

Piriformis syndrome can also develop during pregnancy due to postural deviations caused by the weight bearing changes affecting the woman’s body. Often, because of the added weight of the baby, the mother will develop an anterior pelvic tilt. This occurs when the pelvis begins to shift forward with the weight of the baby in a way to compensate for balance. As the pelvis tilts forward, it causes the piriformis to tighten around the sciatic nerve. {Source}

Oh so many lessons from my personal training exam just come flooding back ...

Given the explanation, I'm not 100 percent surprised. I had been having discomfort in the groin area that I attributed to the relaxin in the area of the pubic bone. The pressure there probably caused the piriformis to contract.

The therapist was confident that within 4 to 6 sessions with her, along with twice daily exercises and stretches, that I will be pain free. I cross referenced her prognosis with running friends who had similar problems and they confirmed the short recovery time. I'm hesitant to be all rah-rah, let me be healed, but I have to trust in the process.

And, I already feel a smidge better with the stretches and short treatment she gave me. It's nothing to write home about (although enough to share with the Internet) but it's noticeable. I limp when I start walking but can eventually transition to a waddle. It even feels manageable after a few laps around the house.

Surprisingly, my greatest concern is not running. I know that I won't be running this weekend and maybe not even next week – and that's OK. But I am trying to figure out how I can still teach my classes at the Y. I am cleared to exercise as long as it doesn't hurt/cause additional pain. I can squat without pain and do upperbody work but added resistance like, say, a barbell could be problematic. If I have to cancel class, though, I will.

We have to put our best butt back after all.

From Good to Bad in 3.9 Miles {A Three Things Thursday Post}

Wednesday started out like any other Wednesday.

I got the boys fed and Miles ready for daycare. I reviewed my music for barbell class and found the only pair of capris that were both clean and belly compatible. I took out Denali ... and took him out again. I got Miles fed ... again. And, at 8:20, we set off for daycare.

But the day was going to be better than just an ordinary Wednesday. I knew it. After all, I had taken off the day just because. It was a me day.

1. Barbell class was great. I felt strong and on it, and there were a couple new faces. The demographics of my Y can make it challenging at times as English isn't always a first language but the new gals did great. They just brought a new life to the class, and I left feeling sweaty and rejuvenated.

2. After a quick trip home to shower and watch an episode of "Property Brothers," I was off to lunch with my running friends. It was Shannon's birthday so we decided to do something incredibly novel and see each other in real clothes. I have to say that I have some really good looking friends.

The bonus: The restaurant we went to is known for its epic grilled cheese sandwiches, and I didn't go wrong with the pesto version that features cheddar, swiss, provolone and muenster cheeses, tomatoes, artichoke hearts and pesto sauce on grilled sourdough. I paired it with the house salad (veggies!) as the restaurant has the best peppercorn dressing.

3. What better way to enjoy a day off than to go for a solo run? The weather was somewhat tempting at 37 degrees though it was dreary and there was a light rain. I knew I would brighten it up with my Pro Compression heart socks and a Fila Hoodie from Kohl's that I found at a post-lunch shopping trip. I had been eyeing it for months, and I found it on clearance for 70 percent off plus I had a 20 percent off coupon.

Things went from good to meh to bad once I hit the trail and no matter how cute the clothes, the run could not be saved.

I've been used to some aches and pains running – round ligament pain, the widening of the hips, low back – but I experienced something new. I felt a pain in my ass. Literally. It started out as a dull ache, one I thought that I would run through and work out. I stopped to stretch half way, and I felt like the run was never the same. It was as if the entire glute just seized up. I tried more stretches and it didn't work. I had to get home so I just gutted it out.

Once I got home, I stretched, foam rolled and used a softball to do myofascial release. I was sure that was all I needed to take care of the pain in my butt.

But I was wrong. It seemed to make it all worse. My right side was tight and now immobile. I was barely able to walk across the room, and it was not without wincing. It got progressively worse as the night went on and even going to the bathroom was a struggle.

The worst part was that I knew trips up and down the steps to help with bedtime was not going to happen. I had to have Mark bring Miles downstairs so I could read to him on the couch. And when Miles got fiesty, I couldn't comfort him.

Or myself.

When I woke up this morning, I couldn't help but cry. Big fat tantrum tears as Mark handed me a cup of coffee. My right side was still tight, and moving was a challenge. I had Mark bring up crutches from the basement and I lumbered around.

At this point, I can barely walk – much less run. I just said Wednesday morning that running isn't important for me physically, though it is. I need it mentally. I need it to feel good about myself, to feel strong, to feel like me, to stay sane. I don't know what I'll do if I'll have to stop, especially now. If I have to take off weeks to rest (and I will if needed), I know I am done running for this pregnancy. I won't be able to just restart at 35 weeks.

I'm trying to be hopeful. I am. Baby boy could be sitting on my sciatic nerve and maybe a good roll will take off the pressure. I could have some luck with a more gentle approach to stretching and foam rolling, along with heat and ice.

If anyone has experience with piriformis pain, please send me your tips. And I'll take any good thought I can get, too!

Race Day Prep {+ Franny Freezer Recap}

It's 11 a.m., and I'm already feeling antsy. Mark is just sitting down for lunch, and Miles is picking at a plate of ... something.

I can't decide what to have. The aversions are strong and with a 5K at 2 p.m., it's difficult to know what to eat. I need something but not so much that my stomach feels unsettled or I need to pull off at a portable bathroom after a loop. I go with an English muffin – one side with cream cheese + jelly, a childhood favorite, and the other with peanut butter, sliced banana and honey.

I scarfed it down with a glass of Nuun and proceeded to round up the boys.

◊ ◊ ◊

The walk from the parking lot to the building is slow and frustrating as is any walk with a toddler who must jump in all the puddles. Some people like to stretch and hydrate before a race but the late start time means one thing.

We can get shit done.

Miles and I are meeting Mark, who drove separately, at Sears to buy Miles a big boy bed. Baby boy needs the convertible crib. Besides, Miles was looking a bit too tall for the crib mattress, even in the toddler bed setup. To get Miles excited, we had already purchased a suite of pirate bedding in twin size. Now, we need the mattress, box spring and frame.

We have about 45 minutes to try beds on for size. Ridiculously, I envision us testing out the different models and Mark snapping photos for this post. When I get to the mattress department, he ushers me to the corner. There is a floor model mattress marked down from $700 to $209 and there's an extra 20 percent off.

Deal.

◊ ◊ ◊

The quick turnaround means that I have a few extra minutes to go to Target. I have four things on my list: wax paper, heart cookie cutters, laundry detergent and drain stuff.

But I have extra time, which means I can browse. All. By. Myself. Who cares if I'm doing this in my race day attire – Nuun jersey, capris and Pro Compression socks.

I start to look at the C9 gear because it's all so pretty. I'm wearing one of Mark's long-sleeve Under Armor shirts as a base layer as it was the only thing in the house that a) covered my belly; and b) matched my Nuun jersey. It's tempting to buy something new, something longer but I err on the side of frugal.

Instead, I wander around aimlessly and issue far too many apologies for getting in people's ways. I do treat myself to a soft pretzel because the English muffin duo did nothing for my pregnant appetite.

◊ ◊ ◊

I show up to the race about 1:15 so I can drop off my registration and get my track club membership squared away. I figure it would give me enough time to jog a short warmup, allowing me to hit 4 miles for the day.

But my friends were there, and I like my friends. So I chatted and stood around in the cold. Or sort of cold. It was mid-30s and just slightly cloudy. The path was clear, too – the only reason I was even doing the race and why I was doing day-of sign up.

Also, I promised Shannon that I would run with her. Even though she's been running for years, it was her first 5K. She's coming back from IT issues but her training runs would line up with my goal perfectly: sub-30.

◊ ◊ ◊

The horn blew and we were off. Despite my best efforts to seed myself toward the back, I saw some of the fasties surge past in the first tenth of a mile. I cheered and waved.

And laughed. One joked that it was her goal to beat the pregnant lady. I assured her that even though she ran 12 miles before the race that she would be good. 

Together, Shannon, Tina and I ran the first loop of the race, which is two times around a local park . We maintained a pace that would have us squeaking in under 30 minutes, and I was just fine with squeaking. I felt challenged but could breathe and talk – my personal pregnancy test.

But just after we crossed the mats, we were greeted with the hill. I didn't like it on the first loop, and I hated it on the second. I slowed to a walk and waved on Tina and Shannon. If they remained steady, I figured I would catch up. If I didn't, well, I didn't.

I gave myself a landmark and then picked up the pace. The walk break was nice, and I felt my tight hamstrings sigh at the respite. Things seemed to be moving and feeling better. I wasn't paying attention to the watch, my sights focused on catching up with the girls, and continued to chip away at the distance.

After a half-mile, I was side by side with them. Just in time for the best part of the course – the downhill stretch toward the baseball diamonds. From there, it would be a tenth-mile or so to the finish.

My legs were moving and so I kept going. Shannon's stomach, though, was moving, too. And she needed a short break. So Tina and I pushed forward.

Note: I should have gone with the longer shirt. Never let your husband coerce you into frugality!

It was going to be close, I noted, as I rounded the path. I had to give it a shot.

I kicked it up as best I could, and Tina did, too. She had a bit more oomph but I tried to keep up. I crossed the mat just as the clock flipped to 30:00:00, my buddy Joe told me.

But we had a chip finish ... and chip start. My sub-30 was possible.

And real. 29:46.

◊ ◊ ◊

I cheered on other runners and chatted with the girls before leaving. It would have been nice to get coffee but I had other things on my plate. Bowling with the family.

It's just how we mother runners roll, I guess. 

Getting Over the Bump {Weekly Recap}

I'm linking up with Jesica at Runladylike to share my week in fitness.

I've started this post a million and one times, each draft ending with me whining and throwing the grandest of pity parties.

Running didn't go great last week. I'm getting slow, like a lot slower. My friends are too fast and getting faster. My belly is getting bigger – my ass, too, probably – and it's manifesting itself in a tight lower body. The feeling of invincibility I once had has been replaced with mediocrity.

In summation: Shit is not feeling great.

The thing is, I knew this was all going to happen and, had you asked me six months ago, I thought it would have happened a lot earlier. Things kept going well and part of me started to believe that it would never happen.

But it has. As my friend put it, I'm like really pregnant now (30 weeks/7.5 months). I have to put my big girl panties on (some really big girl panties) and deal with it. Or, I could stop running. However, I'm pretty sure Mark would fear for his life if the only reason I stopped logging miles was because I was acting like a petulant child, and I am fairly certain I will need him in 9 or so weeks and for the 30 years to follow.

As such, I promise this to you: No more bitching about pregnancy and being slow. It is what it is what it is.

So how's that for a recap?

WEEK'S WORKOUTS

Monday | Barbell class
Time: 45 minutes     

Tuesday | 5 miles, treadmill progression
Time: 48:26     Pace: 9:41

Wednesday | Barbell class
Time: 44 minutes 

Thursday | 6 miles, treadmill
Time: 1:00:30     Pace: 10:05

Friday | 4.06 miles, with Tami
Time: 41:25     Pace: 10:12

Saturday | 7.2 miles, with group

Time: 1:14:16     Pace: 10:18

Sunday | Rest

WEEK'S HIGHLIGHTS

• Running with Tami on Friday. The run itself wasn't all that great. The sidewalks were treacherous in places despite our best effort to find a safe route, and it was quite windy. However, we had fun while we were out there and even more fun celebrating at Starbucks after we finished the 4 miles. You cannot go wrong with coffee + Salted Caramel Cake Pops at 6 a.m.

• I wasn't able to keep pace with the gals I normally run with on the weekends but the change in pace gave me an opportunity to run with a relative newcomer to the group. She's coming back from an IT band injury so we haven't been able to run together much over the past few months. The 4.2 miles we shared was a great time to chat and (re)connect, as well as celebrate the calm before the storm.

• Hitting a January mileage PDR. The month came in at 98.09 miles, beating last year by more than 10. I'm not logging the farther runs on the weekend but I've been more consistent with my weekday mileage than I have in year's past.

WEEK'S STRUGGLES

I'm not posting any because I've been snarky enough. Also, I have a perfect life and would never struggle. Not ever, ever.

How did your week measure up?

Undercover: A Tale of Embarrassment and Support

OK, friends. It's time to gather round for a little story. So settle back with a cup of coffee ... or a cocktail. It's after noon and no one can see to judge.

Now, before I get started, I want you to jog your memory and think of something that embarrassed you recently. It could be a story worthy of Another Mother Runner's TMI Tuesday or something that happened at work. But think of something and hold it there, in the front of your mind.

Onto the story ...

Apprehension – and not much else – filled the restaurant on Saturday night. The storm was just hours from arriving, and those who were filling the booths at Bob Evans were out to dinner while they could get out. Conversations were quiet and the usual hustle-and-bustle of a restaurant were muted, nearly non-existent.

It proved to be perfect for us, as we joined my father-in-law for dinner. It was an unusual treat but he was flying solo, as my mother-in-law in Colorado, and he had offered to take us out.

The conversation skipped and jumped, from the storm preparations and mayhem to Miles chatting about the books he had gotten from the library. As we finished dinner, the topic was firmly settled on running – what I wore and, by accident, the state of my chesticles.

I was recapping the afternoon's 7-miler when my father-in-law asked whether I had purchased any new clothes for pregnant running. Not really, I replied. I have been making do with unisex race shirts and forgiving capris (turned tights with Pro Compression socks). The only area I had invested – and not so wisely– I admitted, was in the foundation department.

Now this is where I tell you a little bit about my father-in-law: He has a medical background and worked in the emergency room for many years. Though he is now a college instructor, he still teaches clinicals in a hospital. He has seen things that people don't need to see – many of which he has shared at dinner. The light-hearted might not appreciate it but I find it crudely fascinating. Anyway, his experience makes him inquisitive and clinical when talking about the human body, even if it is that of his daughter-in-law.

And so, unsurprisingly, he asked me what I meant. Unthinking, I went on to tell him that I had purchased new sports bras earlier in the pregnancy to accommodate the growth of the chesticles. However, they are still growing and the once suitable bras no longer work, resulting in some uncomfortable chafing. I had – and still have – several inch wounds on the bottom of each from my favorite C9 bra rubbing me the wrong way.

The offending style ...

I sighed. I should probably purchase some better ones, I said, but it's an investment and we have other things to get right now.

"How much?"he asked.

I gave him an estimate of $40 to $50 a bra, and he gave me a command. I was to go get one and give him the receipt. It wasn't good for me to continue with the chafing, he said, going into how the areas could get infected and with the infection certain things would happen ... medical speak, medical speak, medical speak. I thanked him and mentally flogged myself for opening that can of pus.

But, the story isn't over. Later that evening, my father-in-law called. He had been talking with his wife about my "situation" and she said that I shouldn't get a bra – I should get two.

And here is where I felt embarrassed: Not only did I have a conversation about my boobs with my father-in-law but he, in turn, had a conversation about my boobs with my mother-in-law. And, if I was a betting woman, I'd bet the information was shared with our Colorado kin.

The upside is that I do get two sports bras out of all my flushing and blushing. My BFF has suggested several Moving Comfort styles that have been helpful to her.

But I'm happy to take input from folks who are in the D cup+ sizes as to which styles are comfortable, supportive and non-offending.

The Morning Report

My heart is thumping and my hands fumble as I furiously try to slam down the gate of the freight elevator. Mark is standing next to me, passive and not the least bit helpful. When the metal clangs, I manically press the buttons. I gasp, taking my first breath in what seems like hours, as I feel my belly drop and the elevator rise.

The fluorescent lights are blinding as we step off, reflecting off the white floors and white walls. I walk slowly, wary of what lurks ahead. I have a chef's knife in my right hand, and I hold it at the ready. The undead are wandering, I know, having encountered them as we rushed into the freight elevator hoping to find a haven. Mark trails behind me, unconcerned with the danger and my safety, and my fury grows.

I proceed, deciding to leave him behind. The knife is still high, parallel to my ear, as I pass jewelry stores with looters blatantly breaking open cases as store workers stand idly. The hall turns to the right ...

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

I reach for my phone under the pillow and struggle to turn off the alarm. 4:45 a.m. the clock reads. It is time to rise and grind.

I tiptoe downstairs as Denali bounds like a freight train down the staircase. We both go to the bathroom – him outside, me on the toilet. I use the time to put on my running gear: sports bra, short-sleeve tech shirt and capris. Shortie Pro Compression trainers go on last. The time it takes to get dressed is my insurance policy, the extra minutes to make sure I am fully emptied.

4:52, the clock reads as I head to the kitchen. "Good," I think. I have enough time to switch over the laundry I started  last night. I make the trip to the basement, where I put dry clothes in a laundry basket and move over wet ones from the washer to the dryer (I had set it on delay so the cycle had finished an hour or so before). There is still pile after pile behind me and so I throw in a load of towels, feeling like a badass mother runner and a wee bit smug.

◊ ◊ ◊

The drive to the YMCA is short but slow as I'm being extra cautious. Freezing rain had come overnight and the walkway at home had been slick. It's a shame, too, as the air is delicious – 33 and calm. It would be perfect for a pre-dawn run around the neighborhood. But the fear (and risk) of falling is too great, and the treadmill is the more prudent option.

I am not quite sure how far I want to run. My mid-week runs have been 5 miles but I'm sure Mark will have a delay, and I could get in 6. And then there's my running log, that temptress. I am at 81 miles for the month and as I have three runs before the calendar turns, I could hit 100 miles. I have never hit 100 miles in January – never ever. I would just need to run 7 miles today.

I push it all aside and hit quick start on the treadmill. I start off at 5.6. I am not sure how I'll play with the settings but I wanted to be prudent at the beginning. The pace feels good, almost too much, and I hesitate to think what it will feel like as I inevitably bump it up. But at a third of a mile, I do – just 0.1, to 5.7. I sigh with relief that it feels good.

My eyes dart from television to television. Fox News is on one screen, reporting the shakeup in management at McDonald's. The blame, I can deduce, goes to Chipotle and other fast-casual but decidedly more upscale chains. I would shrug if it were possible. Chipotle > McDonald's. Always. The local news is on just below, and I see the delays start to flicker across the screen. The regional districts and then the parochial schools. I wait to see Fort Wayne and before I hit two miles, I do.

I could run 7 miles, my type A self thinks. The reasonable side of me tells me no. The third trimester is no time to be setting records. I'll already be running more than any other January, and I should be satisfied with that. And, after all, the treadmill will switch to cool down after 60 minutes. Do I really want to restart it to get in another mile?

No. The answer was no. I settle at 6 miles, finishing just over a 10-minute pace. I feel good but not winded, and I walk more normally off the treadmill than I have in weeks. (Thank you, Jess, for the support belt.)

◊ ◊ ◊

My mood goes from satisfied to stressed within minutes of getting home. I had gone to the bathroom, and I noticed a spot on an undergarment. Weird. I cleaned up and noticed more. I was spotting, or had spotted. A first for me in this pregnancy and maybe both.

I consulted Dr. Google as I made breakfast (a cheese omelet with a Morningstar veggie patty), searching "light spotting 29 weeks pregnant," and found a whole lot of scary stuff about bleeding. I wasn't bleeding, was I? I went back to the bathroom to check. Nope. Not bleeding. And, this time, there was nothing. I went back to Google. One message board said something about an irritated cervix after heavy activity. Hmph. If my cervix was getting cranky, we were going to need to talk.

I passed the time till I could call the doctor/midwife office by putting away all of the laundry. I swear 70 percent of it was Miles' clothes, 20 percent sports bras and Pro socks and 10 percent real clothes. It's so ridiculous, and I shudder thinking that the amount of laundry will seemingly triple come April.

At 8:20, I make the call and talk to the doctor in my practice. How much spotting? What color? How do you feel? Not much. Pink. Fine. He tells me not to worry as it's just some discharge. But I was running, I insist. Does that make a difference? Nope. It's fine. Do I need to not run? Nope. It's fine.

I hang up, relieved. Mark suggests that maybe it's time that I start dropping down a bit. From 6 miles to 5, he assures me. I gape. He didn't seem to care when we are at the mall in my dream, now did he? He can't just pick and choose when he is concerned.

And then I laugh. I probably shouldn't hold my dream against him.

"We'll see. I'll think about it. But maybe. Probably."

Celebrating the Good: Week in Review

Friend and fellow blogger Jesica, aka Runladylike, recently kicked off a weekly training/week-in-review link up. I'm joining her this week to share how I have been getting my move on.

"I'm in awe." 

I looked up, wiping the sweat from my eyes, as I walked away from the treadmills. A fellow YMCA member who was walking on the belt smiled at me. His look was kind and his words complimentary as he continued. I was an inspiration and he hoped to do what I was doing someday.

"So, he wants to be a hot mess," I thought to myself because on that day, and most of last week, that's how I felt. Like a hot mess.

Last week, it was like a switch went off. I was officially in the third trimester and everything just got harder. A 9:30 pace on the treadmill is not going to happen anymore, with 9:45 an effort and 10:00 comfortable. Running 4 miles is bliss, 5 miles is good, 6 is OK and ... well, we haven't tried anything else. 

As such, I was feeling a bit discouraged but determined to move toward acceptance. When I headed out for a run on Sunday, I decided that I would run what felt good for as long as it felt good. Four miles or six. Ten-minute pace or 11 minutes. I would just go, and I would go without looking at my watch. 

Maybe it was the feeling of freedom or the relatively mild weather (low 30s and calm winds) or the chance I might see Lauren Fleshman on my run but I ran with peace. The bad, frustrating runs from earlier in the week were behind me and though the next few months remain uncertain, I knew that I had a clear road ahead.

Note: I seriously missed seeing Lauren on my route by 10 minutes, I later learned. B-U-M-M-E-R. 

WEEK'S WORKOUTS

Monday | Barbell class
Time: 45 minutes     

Tuesday | 5 miles, treadmill intervals
Time: 49:08     Pace: 9:49

Wednesday | Barbell class
Time: 44 minutes 

Thursday | 5-mile run with Tami
Time: 49:21     Pace: 9:52

Friday | 5.1 miles
Time: 50:44     Pace: 9:57

Saturday | Silver Sneakers Training

Sunday | 6.05 miles

Time: 59:02     Pace: 9:45

WEEK'S MEALS

One of my goal's for 2015 was to be better about meal planning, especially for lunches. While it hasn't gone perfectly, I continue to make a solid effort. I am eating out less at lunch time and making several lunches at a time for grab-and-go convenience.

Monday | Broccoli soup with garlic bread

Tuesday | In-laws

Wednesday | Korean chicken over brown rice

Thursday | Chicken bacon pasta

Lunch | Split pea soup (finally made it) and Greek-inspired salads

WEEK'S HIGHLIGHTS

• Giving myself permission to take it easy. It's very hard for me to find middle ground – I'm either 100 percent in or completely giving up. Pregnancy is not a time for either, and I'm slowly making progress (on the mental front) toward that.

• Passing my 28-week glucose test! My diet has been a bit, err, carb rich and I was slightly worried that it would show on my test. But I was good to go.

WEEK'S STRUGGLES

• Silver Sneakers training was about 9 hours of my day Saturday, when including commute, and I had to get creative with scheduling runs. It meant two early days in a row, which is tough for me, but I was better for it. 

• Food aversions? I'm not sure what it is but I'm feeling a bit apathetic toward a lot of dishes, and I can't get excited about healthy foods. Broccoli?  Don't bring it near me. Actually, most cooked vegetables aren't very appealing. The good thing, I guess, is that I have no taste for ice cream.

A big thanks, Jesica, for hosting. If you link up with her, be sure to let me know so I can check out your post.