On Compensating

5:20 a.m.

My alarm sounded from underneath the worn and thin pillow on the bed, and I groped for my phone. It took two, maybe three tries for my brain to connect with the nerve endings in my hand so that I could turn it off.

Turn it off before anyone woke up. Mark, Miles, Si ... especially Si.

I padded downstairs and went through my normal pre-run routine. I made coffee, went to the bathroom, made something to eat. I poured coffee and plated my food, eating and drinking as I scrolled on my phone. I got dressed. I went to the bathroom again. I put on my shoes.

And on this day, a recent Saturday, I filled up the bladder to my Nathan vest, tossing in three fruit punch Nuun tabs and two Nuun Plus tabs. I downloaded the new Another Mother Runner podcast and slipped an extra tank in my pack.

I looked at the clock. 10 minutes. I'd leave then, so that I could begin the first part of my long run. This leg, the first of three, would be solo before meeting up with friends for another 5 and then running a 4-mile race to hit 16 for the day.

Just as I weighed the merits of another cup of coffee versus another bathroom stop, I heard the babbling of a small but mighty Si upstairs. I put the cup down, opened the freezer and grabbed a waffle for the toaster.

I went from wondering what to do with 10 minutes to moving about furiously. Buttering and cutting the pastry, destemming grapes, pouring milk. Climbing up the stairs, showering a cute face with kisses, changing a dirty diaper. I peeked in on Mark and told him he had 5 minutes – and to enjoy them.

The 5 minutes he laid in bed I spent trying to make up for the fact that I'd be gone for the better part of 3 hours so that I could run 16 miles.

And the next day, Sunday, I spent the better part of the afternoon trying to do the same. I tried to change all the dirty diapers. Do an extra load of laundry. Make bacon. Be extra dutiful. I went shopping with the boys while Mark went to the movies.

But as I stood in Gymboree, watching Miles try on Halloween shirts (he wanted one that glows in the dark) and listening to Si scream from the stroller, I put my hands in my head. I took four deep breaths – just like Daniel Tiger instructs – and wondered what I was doing.

I could have stayed home. I could have picked up the house. I could have sat the kids in front of the TV instead of making a trip to Barnes & Noble to get the boys each a book and later to Starbucks for cake pops.

I could have done anything but what I was doing – compensating.

While I am fervent in my belief that moms should not feel guilty for working out or going to run, myself included, marathon training is a whole different beast. I do feel guilty that I'm leaving for three, four hours a day on a weekend and then spending another hour cleaning up, shoveling food and trying to feel normal.

I have feelings, as my friends say, about my training taking priority for not just one weekend but for 16 of them. That my kids wake up and I am not home. That when they ask where I am that the answer is always, "Momma is running."

So I treat my boys – all three of them. I take them to lunch, buy them fun things, make the dinners they like. I try to make sure that I talk to them about anything but running.

I try to compensate.

#BeMonumental {Week 1}

When I registered for the Indianapolis Monumental Marathon on Jan. 1, running marathon was just an idea. A seemingly good one but, nonetheless, still just a thought. I could tell people that I was running a marathon in 2016 without the actual pressure of doing the work.

Well, my friends, that has changed.

On July 4, 18 weeks out from M-Day, the work began ... with an easy 3 miles with strides. Oh, how I love the first week of a training plan.

For this cycle, I am did something different – I paid for a training plan. I didn't hire a coach; rather, I signed up for the Train Like A Mother Club and its fall marathon challenge. I have been lucky enough to follow along with my BRF and the TLAM half plan and my BFF and the 5K plan. Both schedules have helped me get back my speed (and then some) after having Si, and I credit the TLAM plan for my PR at the Carmel half. Not only did I feel like I owed the mother runners some of my money but I felt confident that the workouts would be challenging yet manageable.

And I was right. There's one to two quality workouts a week, and I have the option to hit 20 miles twice (or just once if I am feeling not so into it). I will max out around 40 miles during weeks 14-15. The challenging aspect will be race pace miles during long runs and midweek long runs that buildup from easy pace to race pace to tempo and then climb down.

I'm not going to lie – when I put the plan into a larger spreadsheet, which I printed out and put on the fridge for Mark, I got scared. It's a lot. But, one day, one workout at a time.

Here's how my first week shook out:

monday
distance | 3 miles
time | 28:25
pace | 9:28
notes | hotel treadmill, humid and icky

wednesday
distance | 5.1 miles
time | 45:39
pace | 8:56
notes | tempo

thursday
distance | 4.1 miles
time | 37:00
pace | 9:00
notes | strides

sunday
distance | 10 miles
time | 1:35:15
pace | 9:30
notes | seriously consistent splits {for me} – 9:43, 9:29, 9:33, 9:25, 9:32, 9:25, 9:19, 9:31, 9:28, 9:39

Global Running Day: 4 ways to celebrate with your kids

Today is National Running Day. Wait. Scratch that. Today is Global Running Day.

Global Running Day is a day "for people around the world to celebrate the joys of running."

It's a day to honor why you run.

It's a day to share with those you run with.

It's a chance to reignite your passion for the sport.

And, it's a chance to inspire a similar passion in others.

As a mother runner to two gorgeous boys, my goal today – Global Running Day – is to do all of that not just for them but with them.

Both Miles and Silas have been a part of my running since they were born. Actually, before as I was able to run for the majority of my pregnancies. Once they exhibited good head control, they were strapped into the car seat and I pushed them in the BOB Ironman thanks to an adapter. As they got older, I ditched the adapter and used the five-point harness. Si has even accompanied me for a race – a Girls on the Run 5K last May.

Of the two, though, Miles is my running buddy. I pushed him in the stroller as I trained for my first 26.2, the 2012 Columbus Marathon, and for a number of other events. He's been on short runs and long runs, logging hundreds of miles on those three wheels. He's begged to go on the run, dared me to farther, urged me to go faster and relentlessly requested to go up bigger and bigger hills.

Now that he's getting older (he'll turn 5 in July), he's not just content to sit back and watch me pound the pavement. He wants to hop out and go for it, too. It's a joy to see him become interested in the sport that is more than something that I do but something I am.

And because he's had a hand in helping me become the runner I am, I would be remiss not to celebrate Global Running Day with him.

Here are ways you, too, can celebrate the day with your children.

Make time. Planning a run can be challenging when you are contending with work schedules, spouses, other children and life commitments. On this day, instead of finding time to run when it's most convenient for you, create an opportunity for your child to join you. Maybe it's a quick run around the block while dinner finishes up in the oven (assuming someone else is in the house) or after eating while your spouse so kindly cleans up.

Sign up for a race. I once lamented that there just weren't enough running events that were family-friendly in my area. There were plenty of 5Ks but very, very few had shorter sprints and dashes for the children. I'm happy to report that things are changing here. Log onto your local running club's website and look for races that have kids miles or are stroller-friendly. Be sure to take into consideration whether the race has family-friendly activities after your runner finishes and if medals are handed out. Ask your budding runner which race he would like to do and sign him up. I'm eyeing the Taste of the Arts 4-Mile Run,which has a free (!!!) kids mile.

The chase is on. Children might not find the same satisfaction as you while running through the neighborhood or in a race. And that's OK. However, that doesn't mean they can't run with you. Play a game of tag in the backyard, set up an obstacle course or organize a neighborhood dash with his friends. Remember, running at this age should be about fun more than fitness.

Put a shoe on it. Kids are hard on shoes. I lament that I can buy Miles a new pair of sneakers and the soles will be worn thin within 6 weeks. While those shoes are just fine for play, consider getting your little running buddy fitted for his own pair of shoes. My favorite local running store carries kids sizes from reputable running brands such as New Balance. Getting him a dedicated pair of running shoes, just like you, can help keep him excited about running. Miles recently got a pair of New Balance Vazee Rush, which he has deemed comfortable and super cool (though not as cool as his Highlights Tote). The shoe features "all the technology aspiring athletes need, and nothing they don't, this shoe accommodates their growing need for speed."

And if Miles is any indication, there's plenty of speed in those feet.

Happy running day!

Disclosure: Miles and I each received a pair of New Balance Vazee shoes in honor of running day but I was not compensated or asked to write this post. All opinions are my own – including that it is of the utmost importance to not only display an active lifestyle but to encourage one.

And snow it begins

Give me a snow day or give me death!

Or you can give me a two-hour delay and ruin my life.

Dramatic much? I think ... maybe.

Anyway ...

My training for the Carmel half marathon began this week. Sure, it's a bit early for an April 16 race, especially as I have a solid base of 8-mile long runs. However, I'm following a "Train Like A Mother" plan, and they tend to be a bit longer. It appealed to me for myriad reasons but mostly it gave me the chance to cut the crap and focus.

And focus I wanted to.

I was ready. I was willing. I had a plan for the plan. Tuesday morning, I would drop off the boys and head to the Y. (The weather was beyond frigid, and I have yet to put on my big girl winter running tights.) I would run 5 miles total with 1.5 miles at tempo. I'm still trying to nail down what my paces should be but I was hoping for 8:35.

I rehearsed the run in my head. I repeated self affirmations that I was able to hit those numbers and even if I couldn't on that day, I could and have on others. The run wouldn't determine the training cycle.

I'm really hoping the latter is true because the run didn't happen. Those frigid temperatures prompted a two-hour school delay and thus eating into my golden hour of running.

When I would have been through the warm-up, I was packing up the car. When I would have been bumping up the pace, I was nursing Si at daycare. When I would have been showering at the Y, I was waiting in the drop-off line. (If you have ever waited in a drop-off line with the hordes of rabid mini-van driving moms, you know I needed the run at this point.)

And, maybe the worst part, the regular door monitors weren't even there so they didn't see me dressed in real clothes! Gah!

Oh well.

It all worked out. Sort of. I ran a quick 3 miles after my Tuesday night class, aiming for that tempo pace. I didn't feel satisfied, stopping to fidget with my hair and tank, so I might try it later in the week. Or I might not.

It will be what it will be what it will be. Ya know? And until then, dear weather gods, I'd prefer closures. The running options are much better under those circumstances ;)

Running, Racing and Breastfeeding {Part 2}

This fall, I navigated a curious and sometimes tricky path of trying to run, race and feed Silas. While I have been successful on many levels, I've also faced my fair share of challenges. As such, I thought I would share my personal experiences for anyone who might find it helpful.

This post, Part 2, will address how I handled breastfeeding, pumping and racing. Part 1 focused on my general observations about breastfeeding and running.

I participated in three distance events in September and October – the Fort4Fitness Double Play (10K at 7:30 a.m., 4-mile at 10:30 a.m.), Muncie Mini-Marathon and the Bourbon Chase. Each presented its own fun set of logistics to keep Si fed. 

Note: As I don't have a lot of confidence in my supply and Si was still eating fairly frequently, I might have worried more than I should have. 

Fort4Fitness. This race, being in Fort Wayne and close to home, was probably the easiest. Si was still sleeping decently at this point, and I nursed him around 4 a.m. I woke up around 5:45 a.m., got ready and pumped as much as I could before leaving at 6:30. I left the bottle in the fridge for Mark in the event that Si would actually accept it.

Alas, he didn't.

Mark met me at Parkview Field, the finish and staging area for the race, after I finished the 10K. I fed Si twice between races – immediately after reuniting and right before the 4-mile. He was sleeping when I finished the 4-mile so we booked it out of there to get breakfast at a local restaurant, where I fed him again.

Muncie-Mini Marathon. I was stupid. So, so stupid. We traveled to Muncie the night before the race, and I made sure to pack my pump, pump parts and bottles. The one thing I didn't pack was a backup stash of milk.

Actually, that's not where my mistake lied. It was that I never called the hotel to learn whether mini fridges were available in the rooms so that I could bring extra expressed milk in the event of an emergency. You know, like a race delay because of inclement weather ...

As such, race morning proved a bit stressful for me. I nursed Si per usual when we woke up and then I pumped immediately. I went to pick up my packet at the race start right when it opened and then returned to the hotel. I pumped again. I drank water, ate, and alternated between keeping Si on the boob and pumping. I wanted to have him and the bottle as full as possible before I left. Unfortunately, I only eked out about 4 ounces.

I was doing lots of math when I arrived at the start. If I run the half in 2:10 and Si sleeps for 45 minutes, he'll eat at 4 ounces at this time and be ready for long division by noon. If I ran the half in 2:15 and Si slept for 90 minutes, Mark would eat two donuts with 57 sprinkles at a cost of $1.67.

When the race got delayed a half hour because of torrential rain and lightning, I was worried. Not just about what the conditions on the course would be like but what the condition of the boys would be like when I got finished. I offered to run the 10K but Mark insisted they would be fine.

And they were.

Si had his bottle and had a nap. He was happy albeit ready for his next feeding.

The Bourbon Chase. The race might have taken 31 hours but I was away from home, from Si, for 72 hours. Figuring that Si was eating every three to four hours, that's 24 bottles I needed to produce while I was gone. Eight or 10 of those would be pumped in the back of a van.

Sounds like fun, right?

Let me assure you, it wasn't. But I had a plan. Pump every two to three hours during the day and get all the rest I could.

Here's how it went:

Even though Si does not sleep through the night, I made the decision to not set an alarm to pump. My sister-in-law who travels for work said she never got up in the middle of the night and to take advantage of a night's sleep. Given the circumstances of the race, I deemed it prudent. I got to sleep the first and third nights, the second night was in the van.

The mornings after a good rest, I woke up like Dolly Parton's ginger cousin. I pumped immediately for 20 minutes and then again, if possible, an hour and a half later for 15 minutes.

Our van had a power adapter in the back row, and it allowed me to pump discretely whenever I wanted. I tried to hook up every two to three hours and never more than 3.5. If I went longer than two or so, I tried to pump for 17 to 20 minutes. Even if I didn't express a lot, I wanted the stimulation.

Gah! Did I really just write that?

And so how did I store it?

The milk I pumped before the race was kept in the fridge at my captain's house. Easy peasy. On the road, milk was stored in Lansinoh bags in 5-ounce increments and stored in a small cooler in the van. The cooler had ice packs and ice so that the milk was always cool. After Van 1 runners finished their first legs, we checked into a hotel and I was able to keep my milk in the mini fridge. I had access to the room after my second leg, as well, so I was able to keep it stored there for a good eight hours. After that, it went back on ice then to a fridge again then back on ice.

It wasn't the best situation but it worked. The milk stayed at a relatively consistent temperature and, for the most part, I wasn't toting around 100 ounces (or whatever I pumped) from distillery to distillery.

Because that would be weird.

Any questions?

Running, Racing and Breastfeeding {Part 1}

Sitting in the back of the van, I began to nod off to the familiar hum of the Spectra.

Brr rrm. Brr rrp. Brr rrm. Brr rrp.

It had to be the sixth time that day that I had hooked myself up to the all-too-familiar flanges and plastic tubing. It was growing tedious but I tried to find some peace. This time would not be the last. Far from it, actually.

I was away for three days and three nights to participate in the Bourbon Chase. It was 72 hours of much needed time to be me. Just me. Not the wife, not the mother. It was me, the runner. It was me, the friend.

But as much as I wanted to separate myself, there was one part of my life in Fort Wayne that I could not leave behind.

Breastfeeding.

This fall, I navigated a curious and sometimes tricky path of trying to run, race and feed Silas. While I have been successful on many levels, I've also faced my fair share of challenges. As such, I thought I would share my personal experiences for anyone who might find it helpful.

This post, Part 1, will focus on my general observations about breastfeeding and running. Part 2 will address how I handled breastfeeding, pumping and racing.

Running <<>> Part 1

My face was red, my shirt was soaked with sweat. I had just finished a particularly grueling workout – 6.5 miles of a hill repeat and 400 combo – at the cemetery, and I was riding the endorphin high.

Until I went to the lactation room at work.

I needed to clean up and pump before starting my day. I did my thing with the Action Wipes and then hooked myself up. I'd typically express anywhere from 4 to 6 ounces total during the first pump of the day but a couple weeks prior, Si had been taking antibiotics for impetigo. His appetite had dropped, and I pumped more than usual. As such, I didn't know what to expect – 6 ounces, maybe 7. I'd love to get 8.

But what I got was 2. TWO ounces total.

I panicked and shot out a frantic message to my breast friend. She talked me down, told me to drink, drink, drink my water; stick to my regiment of fenugreek and blessed thistle; and maybe ease up on the running, at least for a little bit.

I could drink the water. I could stand the smell of maple syrup from the fenugreek. However, the thought of dropping back on running was not what I wanted to hear but I couldn't deny that it might be what I needed. Many women can run and maintain supply but I was starting think I wasn't one of them.

My supply rebounded that day after the message, and I got enough to feel OK. However, my impetigo days, where I expressed 19 ounces in one day, were over. I went from pumping 15 ounces, to 12 ounces and then to 10. The correlation seemed to be my venture into midweek runs of 6 miles and long runs in the double digits.

Can we say frustrating? I didn't want to have to pick between nursing Silas and running.

I didn't have a great go of it with Miles, and I was proud that things were better with Si. He is a boob man for sure, and he prefers to drink from the tap over a bottle, even going as far as to hold off until I am around. I love that I can offer him that nutrition and, maybe more importantly, comfort.

However, I couldn't help but feel a bit selfish. You give up a lot when you have a baby. Your body, sleep, sanity. Heck, at times, your marriage. Some days the only thing holding together the pieces of me were the laces of my Sauconys and the steps I ran that day. I needed to run just as much as Si needed to nurse. Maybe more.

But for all the tug and pull, I'm thankful it didn't come down to a him or me decision. I got determined and worked to improve my supply, even if it was just an ounce or two a day. I pumped after Si went down for the night and just before he got up in the morning. I added a nursing session at daycare and pumped immediately after. I chugged water. And I set my sights on 6 months. Six months and he'd have solids. We would be fine if we could make it to then. I could keep up.

And I did.

Keeping up, though, is a bit deceiving. I am able to do it not just from improving my supply and adding solids but Si's schedule. He usually drinks one, maybe two, bottles at daycare – each 5 ounces or so. Other babies tend to take more but they are also babies who sleep during the night. Si? Well, he wakes frequently during the night, sometimes, three to four times. Basically, he's drinking what he should during the day at night and getting a little something to whet his palate during the day.

Fun, right?

On the weekends, when I'm strictly nursing, I don't take note of my supply. It's just not easy to quantify the way it is with pumping. Also, I don't track how often he nurses on the weekends. I just don't feel compelled to do that at this point. And, call me lazy, but if Si's fussy and it's been at least 90 minutes since he's nursed, I just throw him on the boob. Sometimes he eats, sometimes he doesn't.

I am certain that he probably nurses more frequently than other babies his age. On Saturdays, when I run long, it is more pronounced. In part, because he sometimes fusses with the bottle. It's also because I don't "fill up" well on the run. I often feel floppy for a few hours and have to force the water down and make sure I get enough calories to give my body what it needs for milk production.

But it's worth it. He gets what he needs, and I get what I need.

To My BRF, On the Eve of Your First Marathon

The ladies behind the "Run Like A Mother" books and AnotherMotherRunner.com have declared this week BRF {Best Running Friend} Week. It only seems fitting, then, to write a letter to my BRF, Tami, as she prepares to run her first marathon on Saturday.

Dear Tami,

I still remember the morning we met. It was dark and chilly, the only light coming from the parking lot lights at the YMCA. And though it was March (March 25, 2014 to be exact) it was still snowy and icy, keeping us in tights and gloves far later in the year than we had hoped.

We were cautiously optimistic. Though we met through social media, we had mutual acquaintances. People who could vouch for us. I was not a murderer, and you were not a stalker – at least according to our official criminal records.

On that day, we ran 3 miles together although we both ran longer – me logging miles before meeting you, and you adding a few more after. You told me that your pace was 9:30 or 10, maybe closer to 10. You were worried about slowing me down but my log has my run at a 9:21 pace.

You were strong, even then. You just didn't know it yet.

According to my running log, we didn't run again until May. We both had a full calendar of spring races and, maybe, were still a bit uncertain about each other. I feared you didn't like me even though I was desperate for a companion on my early morning runs.

But on the 15th, we went out for 5 miles. We did the same the next week. And the week after.

The summer of 2014 was a golden one. Each run seemed to be faster than the one before and when it wasn't, it was only because we added another mile to the route. Except for that one time when I was really bad at math and I added 2.5. After all, who doesn't love to run nearly 9 miles before work?

Thankfully, you are able to laugh at that now. I think you laughed at it then, too.

We spent those runs getting to know each other (we're basically the same person) and finding our footing as best running friends. Could we fart in front of each other? (Yes.) Could I cuss? (Hell yes.) Could I spend three miles debating the merits of the Brooks Ravenna versus the Saucony Fastwitch? (Of course.) Do we stop to pick up change on the sidewalk, even if it's just a penny? (No question.)

That summer, I felt like my wish came true. I had found a best running friend. Even today, with hundreds of miles under your FlipBelt, I am grateful that we found each other. That we clicked. We've been able to not just grow together as running partners but as "friends."

More than that, though, I feel honored that I have been able to see you grow as a runner and a person. Just you.

You are the same girl, yes, that I met 18 months ago but you have found a way to shine and believe in yourself. You are strong. You work hard. You know who you are (even if it's a little bit crazy sometimes).

You are fit. You are fast. You are a runner.

And on Saturday, when you toe the line in Akron, you are that girl. You belong there. You earned your spot. You will stand within sight of that 4-hour pacer and know that you have that time in you.

If, for a moment, you don't believe it ... I want you to remember that I do.

During the 26.2 miles, you will have times where the race feels so good that you will doubt that it should feel that good. You might think that you are doing it wrong. Remember: You aren't. You trained so that you can feel that way. It is not just OK to feel strong, it's expected. Because you are just that. Strong.

There might be miles, too, when everything feels like shit. I'm hoping that it's figuratively and not literally. We've been there, though, and you know what to do. You also know that it won't last forever. You can have a bad mile. You can have three if you want them. The number doesn't matter as those miles will not take away anything from your accomplishment. Not on Saturday and not in the 16 weeks that preceded it.

In the darkest of moments, you might feel alone. Surrounded by others taking the same journey, the roar of the crowd might fade and the bibs on singlets disappear. You are not. I will be with you. Step for step, fart for fart. If I eat the free chili from the cafeteria again, I might be ahead of you on the farts but that's nothing new.

But no matter what happens, you will make it to that finish line and, when you, do it's all you. Throw up your hands and celebrate. Celebrate the 26.2 miles and the journey to get there.

Much love,
K

Splish, Splash {Muncie Mini Marathon Recap}

"The race has been delayed a half-hour. I can just do the 10K if you want."

I stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Muncie Fieldhouse and watched the rain come down in sheets as I talked to Mark.

The rain, it made me nervous. In a pre-race meeting, the race director gave us an overview of the course and warned that some of it could be underwater. More of it would be wet. He advised that we don't look at our watches and just have fun.

Fun, running 13.1 miles in the rain – and I mean rain. R-A-I-N. Interesting.

Silas, he made me nervous, too. I had fed him as much as I could that morning, and I had pumped what I could. A whopping 3.5 ounces. It would tie him over but that would be it.

"Don't worry about us," Mark said. "Run your half marathon."

I handed the phone back to the volunteer from whom I had borrowed it. I couldn't decide if I was relieved or disappointed with his response.

It was 9:20 when the race director finally coerced us out to the start line. The rain had slowed from the monsoon-like storm but it was still steady. It was cool enough, perfect on any other day, that I didn't want to just stand there. I didn't want to begin visualizing what awaited me. I wanted to go. And from the conversations I heard around me, I don't think I was the only one.

But, soon enough, we were off.

The course headed east on the Cardinal Greenway, through the John Craddock Wetland Nature Preserve and through McCulloch Park.

My goal for this early section of the was not to get caught up in the excitement of the race; to avoid letting those running a shorter distance push me (there was also a 5K and 10K); and walk 1 minute at each water stop.

I had told Mark that I anticipated that I would finish between 2:05 and 2:10 but thought I'd be closer to 2:10, with an average pace around 10 minutes. A good day would mean a pace of 9:59 or faster.

And so it was with a bit of anxiety that I saw the first mile beep in at 9:40. Too fast, too soon.

I tried to rein it in the second mile, a task made easier by the terrain in the wetland. It was indeed wet but there wasn't much standing water. The trail, though, was a mix of wood bridges (slick) and a crushed limestone or sand, which offered additional resistance. I also walked 30 seconds through the first water stop.

But still I clocked a 9:49 mile.

The rain continued as we made our way to McCulloch Park and, at this point, I was soaked to the point that it didn't matter. I was just grateful I had on my Nuun Energy trucker hat to keep the water out of my eyes and compression shorts that weren't causing any chafing.

If you had asked me just an hour earlier, I would have emphatically told you that I would be miserable running a half marathon in these conditions – especially as I wasn't 100 percent confident I was well-trained for the event and I am 5 months post-partum.

Yet, I wasn't hating running. I was actually kind of loving it.

I felt strong. I felt smooth. And I was passing people in an almost strategic fashion. Before I went ahead, I would mentally note if it was me being competitive or whether I was running my race. I wanted to do the half my way. I also took my walk breaks as I promised myself and drank two cups of water at each aid station.

Miles 3-6: 9:34, 9:56 (walked one minute at aid station), 9:37, 9:49

I was excited when the course took a turn through Minnestrista, and I had a chance to look at the lovely Ball Estate. I had visited 2.5 years ago, meeting my brother, sister-in-law and grandma for a day. I have good memories of the trip and I tried to remember what the area looked like on that bright spring day for, on this day, the rain was still falling.

From there, the course took runners on a long out and back on the White River Greenway. It's a section that might have been quite tedious but there were some small hills to keep things interesting. They weren't anything to make you curse but enough to slow you down. I was happy, though, to feel steady as I climbed. It made me feel like the hill work I have been doing is paying off.

My one real frustration was that the course was coming up short on my watch. It was a consistent 0.2 for a while and then three-tenths. I felt like I was doing great work and yet, in a way, it wasn't going to "count." I wanted it to count. I needed it to count.

Miles 7-10: 9:30, 9:43, 9:33, 9:24

Pre-race, my hope was that during the final miles, if I had taken the first 10 as easy as I should have and walked as prescribed, that I could hammer it home.

But ... yeah. I hadn't done that. I could feel my legs grow tired, and I was getting antsy. I wanted to be done. I wanted to see my boys (and see how they had done). I wanted to go to the children's museum.

I bargained with myself that I would stay steady and make the last mile fastest. I could do that. I know how to finish strong.

And that's just what I did.

I wish I had a photo from the finish because I was kicking. K-I-C-K-I-N-G. My Strava stats report that I was down to a 7:23 pace in the final stretch and had been in the 7's for at least two-tenths of a mile.

Let me tell you – it felt good. It felt good to finish strong. It felt good to cross a finish line when I had been so ready to quit a couple hours earlier.

It felt good to surprise myself.

My final splits, according to my Soleus, were 9:38, 9:48, 8:48 with a total mileage of 12.8. My time is different from the watch and official clock by more than a minute so I'm taking the race clock (longer) and giving myself credit for 13.1.

The time – 2:04:27. Average pace – 9:30.

A couple of notes:

• The start delay really messed with my eating. I could feel my stomach grumble as the National Anthem was sung, and I knew it wasn't a good sign. Thankfully, I had brought an extra gel and took it 15 minutes before the start.

• There were fewer water stops than the initial race notes had indicated. I didn't notice it on the follow-up email and was a bit disappointed at mile 5. As wet as it was, I was rather dry. I needed some water ... and I needed a gel. I ended up waiting until mile 6.

• I had a popsicle. I did, I did. I rejected the first offering around mile 7 but at mile 10, it sound amazing. I ate about a quarter with my second gel before going on my way.

• I was off my predicted finish time enough that the boys missed me coming through the chute. I guess I wasn't the only one surprised by my time!

On the line {fall racing plans}

There are three things that you should know about me: I love coffee, I love running and I can't refuse a good deal.

And it was two of those and a lack of the other that I found myself doing something that I said I wouldn't: Registering for a half marathon.

I could go into a verbose explanation of the situation but here's what you need to know: I hadn't had enough coffee that day. It was a free half marathon (well, $1.60 with fees) on a weekend I had planned to run 10 miles, and there's not a whole lot of difference between running 10 and running 13. I love competition and securing a free spot was like a race in itself. Muncie is less than an hour and a half from me but I have only been once. Plus, I get a medal and a glass and the only glasses we have at our house have either come from Nuun or a race. #sadbuttrue

When I got the deal, I didn't think much beyond that ... except how to sell it to Mark. But he knows me and those three things so he's usually fairly amenable.

There was just one thing I should have thought of: The race is the cream filling on my Oreo of September racing.

Sept. 12: The Color Run in South Bend

Sept. 19: Muncie Mini Marathon

Sept. 26: Fort4Fitness Double Play

It's going to be fun, for sure, but I'd be lying if I wasn't kicking myself a bit for filling up my schedule like this. There will be two weekends of travel, three Saturday mornings away from the boys with two of them tied to the pump and a whole lot of solo parenting for Mark.

Thankfully, I have racked up some major brownie points to "earn" that other fall race I'm doing – the Bourbon Chase. Oh, and I have one of the most supportive husbands ever. I couldn't do it without him.

Everyone with me: Awww.

I did come up with a brilliant idea to soften the blow of this whole, "Hey! I signed up for a half marathon without telling you" thing plus racing all of September. I invited my in-laws to travel with us and the race will become a small part of a family weekend. After I cross the finish line, we'll head south to Indianapolis to eat lunch and go to the Children's Museum.

Bonus: I'll make the boys – all of them – really happy by suggesting we grab Giordano's (Chicago style pizza) on the way to the museum. Not that I would want cheesy, delicious pizza after doing a half. Nope. Not at all.

Anyone else gearing up for a busy fall of racing?

Don't Do This At Home

If there was ever a day I dreaded going into a running store, it was Saturday.

I had Silas' 53,203-pound car seat slung over my right arm (12-pound Silas was in it) and a box with a pair of Asics GT-3000 in my left hand. I was taking two items in but I would only be leaving with one. And since Silas was sleeping, I figured I would take him and return the shoes.

Ah. The shoes. I had purchased them the week before when Mark and I were shopping with the boys. We had spent plenty of money that day and I figured, "Hey! Why not spend more?" Also, the achy, old lady knees wanted new shoes.

The store was busy that day but I managed to snag an experienced store employee, who re-evaluated my gait and gave me some suggestions.

I pronate. Not a lot but enough. I could keep wearing Brooks Ravennas but if I were a new runner, he might suggest something with more stability.

I had been thinking more stability and decided that a post-partum return is much like being a new runner. I tried on the Saucony Guide, Brooks Ravenna and the Asics. I ran up and down the track in the store, trying to get a feel for the shoes all the while trying to corral my oldest son as Mark bounced the youngest.

Finally, I decided that I've never been particularly picky about shoes and the Asics were good enough.

Except they weren't. Two runs in, and I wasn't in love. I don't know why. And, for the price of running shoes, you should love them. So, on Saturday, I returned them.

"I'll come back when I don't have kids with me," I sullenly told the senior floor sales manager.

Thus the gist of this post: Five things a mother runner should never do.

1. Shoe shop with kids in tow. If they are able to walk, they will want to run on the treadmill, try on shoes, try on "boots" (aka leg mannequins modeling compression socks), taste the "snacks" (nutrition products) and play with balls (myofascial release tools). If they can't walk, they will want to snack ... on you. You will be distracted, frustrated and make poor decisions.

2. Skimp on the stroller snacks. For the fearless leaders of the stroller brigade, bring no less than one food item per mile. It can be as simple as a Dum-Dum per mile or a cache of healthier options like baby carrots, fruit and raisins. Think I'm joking? Miles can put down a package of fruit snacks, granola bar and string cheese before our first water stop. Listening to him yell, "I'm hungry," for 3 miles is like my version of a slow death.

3. Put Nuun, Gu, etc., within reach. I can't count how many times Miles has flooded the bathroom sink in an effort to make his own Nuun. Chocolate Gu tastes like frosting. Chomps are fruit snacks. And, to him, they are all his. Except one package of Chomps is nearly equal in cost to a box of fruit snacks. His favorite song right now might be "Worth It" but I say no.

4. Use the only foam roller in the presence of children. They will sit on you, push you off, tell you that you are doing it wrong. Grab a second one on the cheap at TJ Maxx or wait until they go to bed. You'll be crying enough for the both of you when you finally get to your IT band.

5. Discuss things like bloody nipples, relieving yourself in the woods or other bodily functions in front of them. They will remember it. THEY REMEMBER. Of course, they can't tell you what you just said or what they had for lunch but they can recall bloody nipples. And then, they will ask your running partner about bloody nipples every time they see him.

Short and Sweet: New Haven 10K Race Report

I ran a race on Saturday.

It was a 10K.

In New Haven, Indiana.

There were 272 participants. Some of them were my friends.

Some of those friends had run 9 miles before the race (because they are marathon training) and were going to take it slow.

I lined up with them.

My goal was to start out with a 10-minute mile and slowly drop down from there, logging negative splits. If it was a good day, I would run sub-60.

My first mile was 9:42.

So much for the first idea.

But running a 9:42 was fun. And if you are having fun while running a race, you should toss up some jazz hands.

So I did that.

And I kept cruising. Gunning for my negative splits. 9:37. 9:20.

Oops. I wasn't supposed to run a 9:20 this race, especially not for mile 3. The race is going to get tough from here on out, I thought to myself.

I was right. It did.

I walked through a water stop and it was hard to resume running. But I saw people, like my friends who had ran 9 miles before, and I thought I'd catch up to, well, catch up.

So I did. It was nice. And then I wasn't so nice anymore, passing them to try to pick it up. Because I didn't want to completely punk out just because my negative split race was out.

9:48, 9:38

Somewhere around mile 5, I realized that if I could hold my shit together that I might be able to go sub-60. It would be close but possible.

Time to pick it up.

I promise I was picking it up. I also promise I have two legs. I cannot confirm or deny whether my thighs eat shorts.

But at least my sock(s) look good.

Also, I did manage to eke out a good mile – 9:28 for 6 and an 8:52 average for the homestretch.

Oh, hey! Two legs!

I could let you do the math – time to brush up for back to school – to see whether I got my sub-hour 10K.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Yep, I think math is overrated, too. I finished in 59:40, which was good enough for me ... but not for awards or placing. Them peoples be fast. Seriously, I was 197 out of 272.

But I finished in less than an hour and got to go home and take a bath in an empty house. #winning

Weekly Training Update {7/13-7/19}

Mark and I strive for equality in our marriage. I meal plan/shop/cook and he cleans after dinner. He does the laundry, and I put it away. He offers 3,000 foot rubs while I'm training, and I begrudgingly half-ass one while watching "Grey's Anatomy" on Netflix.

It's not everyone's idea for the division of duties but, for us, it works.

And our MO is no different when it comes to childcare, trying to be as accommodating and fair as possible. I run at 7 a.m. Saturday, he's off to the Y at 9. I let him sleep in, I get an hour for a pedicure. He has a guy's night, I bank brownie points for overnight relays.*

So when he had a guy's night among an already packed weekend, I was a bit frustrated. "What about me? What about my time?" I thought ... and then whined ... out loud. I had a brief moment that could only be labeled as "Kim playing the martyr" before I came to my senses.

I told Mark that I needed an hour to exercise Saturday afternoon. Like the good man he is, he offered to take the boys shopping so I could have uninterrupted time.

The day was the first one that resembled summer in nearly two months, with the mercury passing 90 for the first time since September. It would have been nice to do my long run then but it wouldn't be fun or safe. But I wanted to coat myself in NAAWK and feel the sun on my face, the breeze on my skin.

A photo posted by Kimberly (@healthystrides) on Jul 18, 2015 at 2:25pm PDT

And what better way to do that than by bike?

My road bike, Peaches, is still on the trainer where I abandoned it in February. {Tip: Road bike + pregnant belly = no good.} I'm a good for nothing cyclist and would need Mark to take it off and put on the tire to ride it. It's a favor I'll call in soon but I didn't want to push my luck on Saturday. But, a ride is a ride and I had one in the form of my Trek hybrid.

I pumped up the tires, adjusted a brake line and wiped down the frame. It was beautiful. And I was ready.

For me, riding bike is not so much about exercise, hitting a certain mph or watts (assuming I know WTF watts are). It's about being outside and feeling myself move. It's about seeing my usual trail from a new perspective. It's about being free and feeling young again.

Ha. Young. Good thing you can't see all of my white hairs.

I rode about 7 miles on a nearly empty trail, going this way and that. It was the most fun I had had in some time. Except for the part where I encountered a huge flock of geese. Geese scare me. Actually, all birds scare me. I biked like hell then and prayed that one of the mamas did not hiss or charge at me.

I returned to an empty house but I felt full. I had a smile on my face, sweat on my brow and fresh rain on my hair. The latter was thanks to a brief summer storm.

When the boys came charging in 45 minutes later, I was ready and happy to be Mom again.

The week, in training:

Monday, July 13
RUN | 4 miles {with the stroller}
Time: 40:02 Pace: 10:00

Tuesday, July 14
X-TRAIN | Boot camp {taught}
Time: 50 minutes

Wednesday, July 15
RUN | 4.0 miles
Time: 38:48 Pace: 9:42

X-TRAIN | Piloxing {taught}
Time: 45 minutes

Thursday, July 16
REST

Friday, July 17
RUN | 4.1 miles, progression
Time: 38:43 Pace: 9:27

Saturday, July 18
CYCLE | 7 miles

X-TRAIN | Pi-Yo Defined

Time: 30 minutes

Sunday, July 19
RUN | 5.1 miles
Time: 49:37 Pace: 9:43

*Note: Please do not mistake this arrangement for pawning off our kids and avoiding responsibilities. Mark and I believe that in order to be a good, happy parent that it is paramount to retain our own identities – not just be "Mommy" or "Daddy" all the time.

Training Again: Ready ... Or Not?

July 1.

That was going to be the day – the day I began training and the day I documented it my Believe journal.

I bought my journal way back in January when Lauren Fleshman, one of the co-authors, was speaking at the Fort Wayne Track Club banquet. I had her sign my copy, going ridiculously fangirl as I told her that I was saving it for my post-baby comeback.

The one, I had decided, would begin July 1. It was a date that seemed far enough removed from Silas' birth that I would be ready to put my nose to the grindstone and ready to do it safely. I was excited to think about the workouts I would document, the successes and challenges I would face. Words like tempo and repeats made me giddy. I had visions of shedding time (and pounds).

But now that go time is eight days away, I'm not feeling butterflies in my stomach. Rather, it's more like a pit.

I've been running consistently over the past 5 weeks, and I'm getting comfortable at shorter distances. My runs are at least 3 miles, sometimes 4, but they are almost all at the same pace – start strong and fizzle. I'm adding a "long" run, too, on the weekends – shooting for 5 or 6 miles. I did this for the first time Saturday and made it 5 but the struggle was real for that last half-mile.

I have no pressing need to push the distance or the pace. Even though I declared this summer the season of the 5K, I am not registered for a single event at that distance. I'll be toeing the line at Fort4Fitness on Sept. 26 but I haven't handed over my credit card yet for the 10K or 4-mile race (or both). The only thing I really have to worry about is the Bourbon Chase and that is in mid-October.

And so I keep thinking, do I really need to start worrying about training? My fitness and average pace will improve with time, and I feel confident that I will run regularly without a schedule or journal to keep me accountable. I just had a baby (and C-section) 10 weeks ago, after all, and there's no need to put undue pressure on myself.

But.

The big but. I have to ask myself if my hesitation to use the Believe journal is because, well, I'm not ready to believe in myself yet. Am I questioning my physical ability to put in the work? Am I scared that I won't be able to push myself like I did last year? Do I not feel worthy of the journal?

I don't know. I just don't. But, I guess, I have eight days to figure it out.

A Day In The Life {June}

There are two kinds of babies in my opinion: Unicorn babies, who sleep for long stretches and nurse like a dream; and the other babies.

I make "other" babies. Sometimes, I like to call them spirited.

While I could lament the frustrations of "other" babies, I will not. I love my boys and, sometimes, I even like them. Rather, my pet peeve is that when you try to find out if your baby is normal (he's not ... because there is no normal), you are only presented with schedules and Day in the Life posts of unicorn babies.

So, for fun, I thought I'd share our day. Of course, the day I decide to do this, Silas tries to show he has unicorn potential.

◊ ◊ ◊

1:15 a.m.: I awaken to the grunts and moans of a gassy Silas. I turn to look at the clock and nearly cry with joy that it is 1:15. Why? It means he slept for 5 hours and I got a solid 3.5. It's a drastic change from earlier in the week when he woke up at 10:30 p.m., stayed up till midnight and was up again at 2. I grab my phone and head to his room to feed him. I could pretend that I use this one-on-one time to feel bonded to my baby but really, I check Facebook and read blogs. Otherwise, I'd fall asleep.

1:40 a.m.: Silas has finished eating and has fallen asleep. After waiting 5 minutes or so, I decide that it might be safe to put him down. I can never be sure as babies are ninjas and can go from sound asleep to "haha, I was just resting my eyes" in 2.1 miliseconds.

1:45 a.m.: Amidst the sighs and moans of a probably not sleeping Si, I hear the scamper of little feet. I look over the edge of the bed and see Miles. "I had a bad dream," he says. This is toddler code for "move over, woman. I want to sleep with you." I try to be a good mom and ask about his bad dream. He says it was monsters. I give him the option of getting in his sleeping bag on the floor of our room or I will lie with him in his bed. He picks the latter.

1:50 a.m.: Silas' farts are audible from my four-inch sliver in Miles' bed. Mark is holding and burping him but I fear I am needed. I get up, and Miles heads to his sleeping bag.

2:15 a.m.: Steal the covers back from Mark and check to make sure my alarm is set. 5:05 a.m. seems good for a run, Silas permitting.

5:02 a.m.: Silas wakes up. Not bad, kid. Not bad. We begin the game of nursing, sleeping, crib, sighing, whining, nursing, sleeping. I make it 2.5 rounds when I realize that he really is looking for comfort. I try the pacifier, a total crapshoot, and he takes it. He's down and I'm out.

5:55 a.m.: I begin my run with the goal of hitting 4 miles, a post-baby PDR. I start off strong but peter out as I hit 3 miles. Endurance takes time. Though I try to stay within a half-mile radius of the house as Mark will text me when Silas is up, I explore the flooding at my favorite park. It is insane.

6:35 a.m.: I get the the text – Silas is stirring.

6:38 a.m.: Arrive at the front door. The key jams – we need to WD-40 the lock. Miles spends 2 minutes unlocking and locking the door. It's a fun game.

6:50 a.m.: Feed Silas. Drink coffee. A huge shout-out to my husband who makes me coffee every morning and delivers it to wherever I might be camped.

7:10 a.m.: I deposit Silas into his swing and begin the work of making breakfast. As my workout is done for the day, I go for something more substantial: Egg-bacon sandwich with hashbrowns. Silas smiles and coos as I cook, occasionally laughing at his brother who works to entertain him. I keep a close eye as toddler love can be a bit rough. Like, sometimes chokeholds are mistaken for hugs.

7:30 a.m.: Eat. Drink more coffee.

7:45 a.m.: Head up to shower, shave legs and brush teeth.

8:05 a.m.: I grab Silas from Mark and try to squeeze in as many cuddles and as much breastmilk as I can before going to work. We interrupt our time occasionally to open fruit snacks for big brother and toss my lunch and snacks in a bag (Ball jar salad, peach, baby carrots, lactation cookie and popcorn). But mostly we cuddle and watch GMA.

9:10 a.m.: Leave the house and head to daycare. It's Silas' first day, and the knot in my stomach twists as we drive. He's spending most of the summer with Mark but will switch off with big bro once or twice a week. I hope he will fall asleep on the way so I won't have to look in his bright eyes when I leave.

9:15 a.m.: Get to daycare. Si is awake. The knot twists deeper.

9:35 a.m.: After some instructions to people who probably know more about babies than I do and working for some smiles, I head to work. I decide that today is a Starbucks day.

9:50 a.m.: Arrive at the office with a decaf Java Chip Light Frappuccino, ready to take on the day. When I get in, I learn that my co-worker had decided today was a donut day. I can't resist. It's a cherry cake one for me.

It's a running joke in the office that I use a Laughing Cow lunch cooler to tote around my milk.

10 a.m.: The grind begins. I work, eat, snack and pump. The goal is to pump at least three times but maybe four. I have an off-site meeting at the end of the day so it's just three sessions in the lactation room – 10:30, 1:30 and 4:15.

4:40 p.m.: Head to the meeting and listen to episode 2 of the "Undisclosed" podcast. A co-worker, who was equally obsessed with "Serial" as I had been, suggested it to me. It has no relationship with "Serial" or "This American Life" but it could be considered a companion. The show looks into many of the legal issues of the Adnan Syed case and fleshes them out. I don't love it but it's a good listen.

6:01 p.m.: A Flash Flooding Warning interrupts my podcast and commute from the meeting. It's not a surprise as strong winds made it hard to control my car on the highway and the rain was coming down in sheets.

6:15 p.m.: Arrive at my in-laws' for dinner. It's ziti and meatballs ... again. Silas is happily sitting in his car seat and Miles refuses to say hi. I'm blaming his fruit punch-stained mouth and his awareness that I would clean that face before kissing it.

7:10 p.m.: Home sweet home. Or, circus sweet circus. The bedtime hustle begins with Mark bathing Miles and me nursing Silas. We swap kids so that I can read to Miles and get a boobie break. However, I'm not super into reading this night because Miles picked some terrible books – a verbose tale about a dog at a lighthouse (I'm going to cut whoever gave this to us), a non-fiction book about sharks (that I've read 437 times) and Marvel Avengers 5-Minute stories. I secure my mother of the year nomination by skipping paragraphs and flipping two pages at a time.

7:40 p.m.: After reading, Mark usually takes Miles upstairs to read a section from his Action Bible but Miles requests me. I almost cried – since Si was born, he's grown closer to Mark and I don't get enough time with him. We head upstairs to cuddle in his bed when he discovers part of his big toenail had ripped.

7:43 p.m.: I trim the toenail amid kicking and crying.

7:45 p.m.: The crying continues with such fervor that Mark appears and asks what happened. Miles accuses me of cutting off his toe. I have to contain my laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation. Before getting yelled at for smiling, we switch kids and I take Si downstairs.

8:15 p.m.: Mark and I watch "Orange Is The New Black" with Si sleeping on my chest. I let him nurse to sleep (I know, I know) and wait till his ninja reflexes are subdued before putting him down.

9:15 p.m.: Give in and go to bed. After all, who knows what the night will bring.

Other Day in the Life posts:

June 16, 2012
November 21, 2012
January 25, 2014
October 30, 2014

C-Section Recovery: My Story

I sat up in the hospital bed and rubbed my shoulder. I was just one day post-partum and of all the things that hurt, I found it most inconvenient that my right side was causing me grief. I was sure that I had slept on it wrong or held Silas in an awkward position but when I discussed it with the day-shift nurse, I learned otherwise.

The problem? A build-up of gas. The only way to get all systems going was to get out of the bed and get moving – no matter how much it hurt.

So I rolled out of bed and put my bare feet on the cold tile floor. With Silas in a portable bassinet and Mark at the helm, I ventured out of the wide threshold of my room and down the hall. Each step was labored and I found myself hunching as we went. We got to the end, where the nursery was, and I held myself at the wall.

"Can you believe I used to run marathons?" I asked Mark.

"You will again, babe," he said. "You will."

I knew in my heart that there was truth in his words but at that moment, recovering from the C-Section seemed long and arduous. All of the sugar-coated memories of my comeback from my first section were replaced with pain, Percocet and hormone-driven outbursts.

I thought back on that moment this week, running around the house and flying up and down stairs. I bent over to do laundry and carried two baskets from the basement to our second-floor bedrooms. All of it after teaching boot camp in the morning and running after lunch. Just one of those would have been impossible in the early weeks after the C-section much less all of them. But there I was, eight weeks post-partum, feeling (mostly) like the old me.

I didn't come across a lot of stories about C-section recoveries, especially pertaining to someone who was and wanted to be active. I thought it might be interesting to share my experience, if only to remember what the early days were like before my brain closes the door on those memories. And moms, we all know the details of newborn life are erased so we can have more.

Note: These are just my experiences and in no way a guide for another person's recovery. Please consult your doctor before resuming any physical activity after birth and honor your body.

Week 1: Walking and activities of daily life are challenging. You haven't felt pain until you try to sit on a toilet post abdominal surgery. After the painful walk on Day 2, I began to slowly add wings of the Labor and Delivery section of the hospital on each walk (about three a day). I was taking Percocet every four to six hours and Motrin every 12. After I was released at four days post-partum, I was moving better and was down to one Percocet every eight hours. The biggest challenge was taking the stairs so I had Mark set up the portable crib, allowing Silas and I to camp out downstairs.

Week 2: I stopped taking painkillers at six days PP so that I could drive Miles to daycare on Day 8. Caring for both boys on my own was a challenge, physically and mentally, and Miles was getting bored. I didn't experience too much pain driving but Miles had to climb in and out of his car seat. I went to the grocery store on Day 9, and it was a bit ambitious on my part. My favorite store is small but pushing the cart and lifting gallons of milk left my incision aching. I made sure to ask the bagger to keep each bag light.

Week 3: I went for my first walks this week, starting with a mile around the neighborhood. I had an awareness of my incision but not a lot of pain. I gradually increased my distance by a quarter-mile every other day. I found that it was most comfortable if I pushed Silas in the stroller instead of wearing him as the Ergo put pressure on my incision.

Week 4: I felt excited and ready to get in more of an exercise habit so I added in some strength training. I avoided all lower body and abdominal exercises to be prudent. I did have to be mindful not to overdo it, as I learned the hard way. At 22 days PP, we walked 2 miles in the morning and then went to the zoo with family. By the end of the afternoon, I felt achy and some pulling at the site.

Week 5: For a small piece of sanity, my Mother's Day gift from Mark and myself was the chance to run a mile around the neighborhood. This run was not pretty. I felt heavy and clunky, even awkward. I didn't have any true pain but I deemed it wise to stick to walking for the week. I also tried a barbell workout to prepare for my return to the Y but discovered lunges put too much pressure on my low abs and hips.

Week 6: I was feeling better so I decided to try another run, traveling by foot to my in-laws' house for dinner while Mark drove with the boys. I covered two miles but had it not been for my ego and love of round numbers, my body would have been fine with 1.5 miles. I continue to work on upper body strength and am picking up Miles with more regularity. He got heavy over the course of six weeks!

Week 7: I am officially cleared by the doctor to resume all physical activity and exercise as tolerated. There's nothing that I can do to the incision/scar that would do harm. He warns me to set my expectations low as I had major abdominal surgery. I celebrated by meeting my girlfriends for a 3-mile run. The first half felt good but I was happy to stop for water at the turnaround. I really had to work to finish strong. I also resume regular (for me) running, logging four outings. There is no pain save for a very localized spot where it feels as if one of the plastic clips is pulling/trying to poke through. (Note: My incision was secured with plastic clips that dissolve on the inside and steri strips on the outside. The plastic clips can poke through and work themselves out. I asked the doctor about this in the beginning of the week, and it's normal.)

Week 8: I participate in my first post-partum race, the Girls on the Run 5K. My endurance is improving, slightly, but I have one speed. The localized pain is all but a memory and lunges now feel as comfortable as they are going to get. I make my return to teaching at the Y and am pleased to discover that basic exercises such as jumping jacks are tolerable. Core exercises are challenging, in part because of the incision but also lack of strength.

All Good Things Come To An End

Today is my last day of my maternity leave.

Eight weeks and two days have come and gone. Days in a blur and nights endless. There have been marathon nursing (and Netflix) sessions, meals enjoyed with one hand, oatmeal-crusted hair, neck cheese and a heart overflowing.

And tomorrow that will all end.

To say I'm dreading it would be the understatement of the century. With Miles, I felt ready to go back to work. I had struggled with post-partum depression and breastfeeding and though it pained me, I was sure the daycare provider was better-equipped to care for him than me.

Silas has been different, though, with Mark and I both remarking that our bond has been much stronger. We are attached in every way and my love for him settled into my heart more quickly. The reasons are myriad. I co-slept with him early (mostly because I fell asleep nursing); breastfeeding has also been more successful thanks to one-on-one sessions with lactation consultants; and it's been just the two of us for the majority of the eight weeks with Mark's paternity leave limited.

As I work my first day, it will be Nana and Silas – not Mommy and Si.

Rather than let this day feel like mourning, I decided that we would celebrate. I considered a few options – camping on the couch, napping and eating whenever we wanted; wearing leggings as pants but going sans bra; shaving my legs; doing last-minute chores that seemed to go unchecked during the eight weeks; or visiting friends.

But then I thought of something, my favorite thing to do these past few weeks. Si and I would take the long way to the neighborhood coffee shop/cafe for an iced decaf Americano and slowly walk home.

Wanting to get in a run this week without pressure or rushing, we headed for the park to get in a 3-miler before stopping at the coffee shop. Our pace was brisk and I told myself to start slow as I taught class this morning and there's no rush to drop pace. Savor the run.

Just after noon, the temperature was warm but cloud cover and a nice breeze made it some of the most tolerable weather we've had. It was more reason to take our time.

But as we got to the first mile marker, I noticed we were just around a 10-minute pace – and it didn't feel bad. I wondered whether we could go sub-10 for the run, a barrier that is (somewhat) frustrating me. I picked it up and felt good. Strong, even. It seems things are starting to click as I have been told. I focused on hitting each quarter mile in less than 2:30***. One section at a time, it's all I needed to worry about.

That and iced coffee. Of course.

We hit the cafe after 3.11 miles at a 9:49 pace – my fastest post-partum run!

Inside, we were greeted with a display case filled with from-scratch desserts. There's cheesecake and cookies, brownies and scones. I've thus far resisted temptation but decided today was the day.

Confetti cookie! It lasted about three blocks :)

As we walked the sun began to peek out, as promised by the forecast. The wind blew and I felt a slight chill. I started to reach for my AMR 26.2 sweat shirt in the stroller basket but resisted. It felt good. I felt good. I was/am still a bit sad about leaving Si ahead but I know we made the most of our time together. We will find a new rhythm, a new routine. We will find ourselves but appreciate our time together.

We will live on the bright side.

*** A few notes that didn't seem to fit:

• I also had to focus on not hitting a group of teenagers on the path. Today was the last day of school for Fort Wayne and either the kids were skipping or had been let out early. But that's neither here nor there. They were not paying attention, playing around, and one guy began walking from the grass toward the path. I started to yell, "Runner coming. Watch out. WATCH OUT!" But he didn't look up. In fact, he didn't notice me until I was less than 6 inches from mowing him down. I was annoyed to say the least.

• I saw two members of the track club while I was waiting for my coffee. I love how running has given me that sense of belonging and community.

• As I tried to leave, backing up to open the door while holding my coffee and cookie, a mom offered to help me out. I told her that I was OK and I'd manage. She insisted, though, grabbing my iced coffee and walking out with me. She remembered those days, she said, and gave me a smile. Far too often, I think people are more likely to gawk and become annoyed rather than help and empathize. It was refreshing and appreciated.

Our First Stroller Run

Eyes closed. Dog leashed. Legs ready.

Garmin not. Wait. Walk. Stop. One minute. Just. One minute.

Forget it. Let's go.

Strong. Legs. Surprising.

Left arm. Right arm. Push. Push. Right arm.

Sticky. Sweat. Drips.

Traffic intersects.

Wipe. Drink. Nuun. Water. Nuun.

So. Hot. Sun bright. Air thick.

Push on.

Roads. Faces. Familiar. Wave. Smile.

Push on.

Bump. Wince. Bumpy road.

Ooh. Oh. Silence. Good.

Hill. Down. Breathe. Fly. Hold tight.

Mile time. 9:XX. Wow. Strong.

Push on.

Hill. Up. Breathe. Focus. Hold tight.

Summit. Relief. Breathe. Drink.

Check. Eyes shut. Quiet.

Push on.

Stop. Sign.

A sign. Wipe. Breathe. Drink.

Nuun. Water. Nuun. No more.

One. Car. Two. Three? No.

Push on.

Straight? Turn? Right.

Small. Hill. Feels. Big.

Slow. Walk. Breathe. Rally.

Push on.

Turn? Straight? Short? Long?

Straight. Go. The. Distance.

Flowers. Trees. Canopy.

Pollen flies. Lilacs perfume.

Home. Near.

Timer ticks. Almost 30 minutes.

Push on.

Push. Hard. Strong. Finish.

Block. Ends.

Run. Ends.

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?