My Running Pregnant Experience {Second Trimester}

26 weeks, 3 days.

I am that much pregnant. And, in 10 short days, I'll be in the third trimester ... the homestretch.

I'll spare you the babble about how I can't believe I'm almost in the third trimester because, well, it would be a lie. I feel like I've been pregnant forever. When a running friend said on New Year's Day that I'm going to be stupid fast when I come back after the baby, I was dumbfounded. Not by what she said, because it would be clutch to be stupid fast this summer, but because I don't remember what it's like to run not pregnant.

And that's why we're here. To talk about running pregnant, specifically how it's been going in the second trimester. (CLICK HERE for my post on the first trimester.)

Highlights: Going sub-2 at the Haunted Hilly Half with Kim; taking on the #RWRunStreak; and finishing the Gingerbread Pursuit 4-miler at a sub-9 pace.

Numbers: 349 miles ran (so far); 8:39 pace at the Bourbon Chase was my fastest run; and the Haunted Hilly Half was my farthest

How I am feeling: For the most part good though some days are better than others. It seems to take me a bit longer to get in a groove and, by the time I do, it's almost time for the run to be over. But I'm happy to be running.

As the weeks progress, I have had to manage what I assume is round ligament pain. I don't have it every run but, if I do, it's usually in the first two miles. It can be so uncomfortable that I contemplate stopping but once my ego agrees, it has passed. I've also had some discomfort akin to stitches in that it's in the belly/sides and not worrisome – just annoying. I am considering getting a support belt to see whether it alleviates the feeling and helps improve my running.

Pace: I have noticed my pace drop during this trimester where in the first trimester, because of my Fort4Fitness training plan, I actually got faster. I've gone to running 9:15 comfortably to the 9:30 range with 9:45s feeling better. If I'm on the treadmill, I'll start my runs at 5.8 or 5.9 instead of 6.1 or 6.2. I usually finish with the same pace, even if it's a push to the finish, but it takes me longer to reach the faster paces.

I've been waiting to get slower, significantly, for quite some time, warning those who go out with me and playing down my runs. Still, I'd go on about how I was surprised that my pace wasn't slowing but I was ready. And now that I think it's time, I'm going to be honest: ego-wise, it's really hard to acknowledge that I need to allow myself to step off the gas a bit. I need to not only be OK with logging slower miles in my spreadsheet but happy with it.

Cross training: I'm teaching two barbell classes a week, and I do the workout with the class. I don't lift as much during squats but my weights are comparable to pre-pregnancy on other tracks. I still teach a bootcamp class on Thursday nights (all are at the Y) but I have switched to leading and demonstrating good form. All plyometrics, save for some jumping jacks during a warmup, are out.

Looking forward: If I can get over myself (see above), I'd still like to run 20 to 25 miles a week as my body can handle it. I can't keep my (relative) speed – super coach and local superstar Justin Gillette says it's not possible – so I want to try for the endurance part. I ran 8 miles a couple weeks ago with the run group and it was challenging because of the pace. I might try that again this weekend, on my own, to see if that's feasible. Otherwise, I'll stick with four runs a week of 5 to 6 miles and maybe one shorter run of 3 miles.

Comeback queen?: I know, I know. I haven't even had the baby yet and who knows how things will go. BUT, it's nice to look at races and think about them, especially when that's what my running partners are doing. I will likely skip the summer, even the shorter races, and work toward doing the Double Play at Fort4Fitness, running the 10K and 4-mile. If anything, I'll "race" the 10K and walk the 4-mile with Baby X in the stroller. The race would set me up nicely to do the Bourbon Chase again, if my team wins the lottery. Kim mentioned a fall half, which is a possibility since we'll both be post-baby and run it for fun. It will be 2+ hours without kids needing us.

The big goal, right now, is a fall marathon in 2016. I've got it in my head that I want to try for Marine Corps and, if I don't get in, Twin Cities.

Sound off: Has anyone run with a support belt? Do you have a model you'd recommend?

Off the line: Race day

Saturday was race day.

I was up early — before 6 a.m. — and Miles and I made our way down the stairs, headed toward the kitchen.

There was a banana — just one — that was on the verge of turning. "Pumpkin banana pancakes," I thought.

I began to work on our breakfast at a pace that was neither leisurely nor frantic. Miles and I measured flour. Cracked eggs. Mashed banana. We let the batter rest as the skillet warmed on the blustery fall morning. Juice was poured and coffee made.

The morning seemed long and quick at the same time. The minutes seemed ample when I decided to make a meal but after eating and sipping my coffee, the clock was no longer in my favor. And so the rush began. It was time to get dressed, brush teeth, wash hands. Find shoes and get them on the right feet.

With few minutes to spare, we headed out the door. It was 7:45.

Runners were headed to the starting line. Friends and running club members were in the pack, ready to do a victory lap after hours and miles of training.

As for me, Miles and I were off to Kroger. Mark had an 8 o'clock appointment to take in his car. I, parked behind him, needed to moved the car. Going to the store seemed like a good idea.

Saturday, for the first time in a long while, I was not going to be joining my friends. I was not going to be racing. And, I cannot lie, it felt weird. I had worked hard last year, overcame injury, to participate in Veterans Marathon. I had one of the most challenging races in my life but came away proud because I never gave in.

I (somewhat) jokingly told Mark earlier that week that I should run the half at Veterans Marathon so I could get in a long run. He didn't think a $45 long run was all that funny, especially after I promised that the Haunted Hilly Half would be my last big race until Baby X is  born and I am recovered.

As of right now, it could very well be my last race. I have not clicked "register" for a single race, not even a turkey trot, and I am not sure if I will.

I run with friends who chat about doing the 15K at the Galloping Gobbler and spring marathons. They talk about what month would be best and where would be a fun place to race. I accompany friends who rehash PR races and long workouts, celebrate milestones and another medal on the rack. I interject when I can, sharing what I've heard about a particular race and offering congratulations.

Otherwise, I am quiet. If you know me, you will now how hard it is for me to be silent.

Don't get me wrong — I am elated to be pregnant, and I am excited to see what life has in store. There's no race, no event, that will give me the joy that will be becoming a mother for a second time.

I also know that I've been extraordinarily lucky to have been able to participate in the events that I have this year. Five half marathons, a 20K, an overnight relay. I ran through vineyards and distilleries. I set PRs and I made comebacks. I had an amazingly challenging but successful training cycle.

But I do those things because I love them, and it's hard to let go. It's hard to sit on the sidelines, especially when I know it will be for most of next year.

I know I will learn to handle the change. To own the time. Meanwhile, excuse me if I sulk a bit as I pee in the woods.

Diary of a Pregnant Runner: Entry 1

Dear Diary,

This morning, I sat down on my run. Literally. As in, I bent my knees and put my bottom on the grassy hill of a stranger's front yard.

The issue: I had to tie my shoe. The laces of my right Ravenna was loose and off to the side, and I could feel my foot slipping. My Achilles stressing. My arches aching. I needed to fix it.

I stopped just after the buzz indicating that I had finished my second mile. I wiped the sweat from my face on my orange For Two Fitness tank and began to bend over. But I only made it to a 45-degree angle at the hips. I could have gone further, I venture as I'm not showing that much, but I just didn't want to. I needed to stop. To catch my breath. To lighten the heaviness on my chest.

From the moment I set off on the 4-mile jaunt, I was aware that it would not be the easiest of runs. The legs, even after Saturday's hilly half, felt good – or at least functioning. My breathing, though, was labored. I felt heavy from the waist up. Discomfort and near burning radiated from my heart.

It was the boobs. If I was less apathetic and, to be honest, anxious about my weight gain thus far, I would be able to give you an estimate of how much the womanly mounds have grown. Nonetheless, I feel secure in saying that a third of the pounds are in my chest. Mark read a woman can gain up to 7 pounds in the breasts during pregnancy. Though I think he's being optimistic and would have considered it far fetched 12 weeks ago, I can believe it. I have, after all, gone from "barely there" to "hello there" and feel as if they are trying to keep pace with my growing belly.

A new bra, purchased in a medium to accommodate the girls' new size, still felt unsupportive. Bounce, bounce, buh-bounce they went as I lumbered down the street. Thankfully, they are not of a size at which I would have to worry of being hit in the face for choosing a bra on the Target clearance rack and not the running store ... yet. However, I was beginning to fret that they could free themselves from the medium support shelf garment and create an unsightly situation.

In the beginning of the run, taking the first steps down my block, I wondered nearly aloud whether I should have stayed in bed. I tried to remind myself that, physiologically, it takes the body's energy systems several minutes to catch up. I would breathe better when I got to the intersection near the church. I would slow down and feel lighter once I got to the park. I could slow down more and take a breather at mile 2.

So at the house just north of the gas station, with the flood lights illuminating the patch of grass where I sat, I was forced to acknowledge that it wasn't going to feel better – at least not today. And that was OK. I got up and wiped the sweat off once more (it was 67 degrees! On Oct. 28! In Indiana!) and started again. The run, the Garmin. My search for the right pace.

I plodded along, wondering how I felt at this point in my pregnancy with Miles. But I could not remember. Somehow, I lost myself in the black hole of my brain, and the distance that I had ran became greater than what remained. The urge to complete it was stronger than the urge to quit. Although, as I rounded at home at 4.43, I will admit there was no desire to run down the block to hit an even 4.5 nor one to run around two blocks to log 5.

I was done ... for the day.

xoxoxo,
K

P.S. Hopefully, lovely diary, this will be the last entry for a while about this topic. Smooches.