Wednesday Weigh-In

Just before the Indy Mini, I got brave. And by brave, I mean that I stepped on the scale. 

No matter how much I exercise or how many days I track my food (I currently have a 374-day streak on MyFitnessPal) or how many times I've actually stood on the scale, it's always a nerve-wracking moment. It was no different that day albeit probably worse as I knew that the indulgences were many in April as I celebrated my PR at the Carmel half marathon and my birthday, as well as ate my way through Chicago with my girlfriends.

Just as I suspected, I didn't like the number I saw – especially because it displayed my weight in stones, not pounds, no matter how many times I fiddled with the settings. (And it still does. It might be a sign to get a new scale and have a legitimate reason to go after this one with a sledgehammer.)

But before I could beat myself up too much, the universe gifted me with a near 10-day stomach virus that left me 6 pounds lighter.

Please note: I'm not advocating illness as a means to weight loss. It just is what it is what it is.

While some of the loss was water, I have been able to stay under my pre-baby weight, which is still not to say I'm happy. Ideally, I'd like to lose another seven to 10 pounds to feel like I look lean – especially in pictures – but also so I enter training for the Indianapolis Monumental Marathon at a fighting weight. 

Goals should be SMART – specific, measurable, achievable, relevant and time-bound – and I'm approaching my post-partum, post-nursing weight loss in the same way. While I would never advocate that someone lose weight for something, I'm using our family vacation in July as a benchmark to keep me accountable.

Also: I really want a reason to spend more money than necessary on an Athleta bathing suit. I'm using the purchase as a reward for reaching my Weight Watchers goal weight, which would mean I need to lose 4 pounds. Four pounds is specific, measurable and achievable and the weight-loss is relevant as marathoners can often gain weight during training. Time-bound – well I have six-week goal.  

It's not good enough to have a goal, though. Not even a SMART one. You have to have a plan and a plan I have.

The stomach bug didn't just jump start my weight loss, though. It helped me reset my palate, which had been far too sugar hungry before May 7. Using that as a springboard, I'm focusing on vegetables (boring) and increasing my protein intake. I'm not going to be slamming protein pancakes and protein shakes and a dozen hard-boiled eggs but I am going to add in a shake and skip the night-time ice cream in lieu of cheese and meats with a couple crackers or homemade popcorn.

I'm also, at least this week, sharing my meals on Instagram (follow me HERE) to keep me accountable. Partly, it's because I'm copying a friend who is doing Whole30 but it's also because I have a short attention span when it comes to focusing on food.

Anyone have tips to stay motivated? I almost think it's harder to keep at it when the weight loss goal is smaller and the weight is more stubborn.

Back at Square One

"It takes nine months to put on the way so it's only right that it should take nine months to lose the weight."

I've always loathed that phrase. It seemed like a way to justify not losing the baby weight or a way to rationalize poor eating decisions when caring for a newborn.

But I found myself clinging to that phrase more and more as the months ticked by after Si's birth. I had lost some of the 35-ish pounds I gained but stalled with about 15 to go. I had lots of things to blame – lack of sleep, stress (that of caring for a newborn and outside sources) and hormones, all of which are scientifically proven to hinder weight loss.

It was frustrating to say the least and, I'm sure as I've written here, I had resigned myself to the fact that I wouldn't have a fighting chance until breastfeeding was over. Nursing Si and maintaining my supply came first, and my body second.

The holidays arrived, though. The season of indulgence came in like a lion, and I found myself engaging in eating behaviors that not only negatively affected my waistline but my self esteem as well.

So on Jan. 4, the first Monday of the new year, I said enough. It was time to get into gear. It wasn't a resolution or a "new year, new you" effort. It was a "get your head out of your ass" kind of thing. The first step was getting on the scale and acknowledging the number, whatever it may be. Second was packing my lunch, mostly vegetables and lean protein. Third was avoiding all of the sugar at work.

It was tough – each step – but I stayed the course (am still staying the course). All of the things I thought I couldn't do, all of the obstacles in front of me, whether I had put them there or other things had, seemed to be inching away from my path.

This morning, I stepped on the scale. And then I stepped off. And then I stepped on again. Both times, the display showed a number I haven't see in nearly 18 months. It's a number that I've been waiting for, one that puts me in the healthy weight range (according to the BMI chart). It was a number, according my doctor's chart, that was 1 pound less than I weighed in at the first prenatal appointment.

Yahoo for eating a crap ton of vegetables and having a bit of a wonky stomach yesterday!

Excited as I was, I didn't think much about the timing. It just seemed long overdue. But then, I started going over the day with Mark.

Iron Miles' uniform shirt. I need to pack his lunch. I'll drop him off at school and then head to the doctor. Si has his 9-month check up today.

Si. He's 9 months. NINE MONTHS. The length of time it took me to gain 35 pounds and grow a baby. And the time, it seems, it took me to lose the weight.

I would like to lose more. I plan to lose more as even though I'm getting to a happy place with the scale, I'd like to be closer to my Weight Watchers goal weight; I want to fit into my summer clothes; and I want to feel a bit fitter than I do now.

Today, though, I will celebrate. With a giant ass mother effin' burger ... hold the bun, add the veggies with a tall glass of water on the side.

Learn to Hate Yourself In 6 Easy Steps

I don't like my body.

I could try to write around it, wax poetic about things with baby No. 2 being different ... harder. In the end, though, it would all boil down to the fact that I am not happy with the way I look.

I feel round ... soft ... heavy. I look in the mirror and see thick legs, a double chin and arms that flap in the wind. I feel a spillage when I squeeze (rather than slide) into pants.

I've tried to do things to improve the situation. I track my intake as best I can on MyFitnessPal. I exercise regularly. And I've given myself plenty of challenges – no sugar for a month, no sugars and no grains for a month, one dessert a day, drink 5 bajillion jugs of water before every meal. But in the end, I'm still 5 pounds above my official starting weight at the doctor and 15 pounds above where I would like to be.

The worst part? According to the BMI chart, I am overweight. I am unhealthy by this standard.

To add insult to injury, there have been a few things to really hammer that sentiment home. So if you are feeling as if you want to take your self esteem down a notch – or 5 – here are my tips.

1. Give yourself permission to give up. When I really tried to rein in my diet, more than my weight dropped. My milk supply did, too. And I'm not one of those magic milk unicorns who lose 30 pounds and pump 500 ounces. So instead of getting neurotic about every ounce I wasn't pumping, I decided to give up any real weight loss effort until the shop closes down. Of course, that doesn't necessarily translate into eat all the sugar ... but I let it. You know, because the weight will fall off when I stop nursing. #sodelusional

2. Stop weighing yourself. The number on the scale is just a number ... blah, blah, blah. While I know that's true – to an extent – I'd really like to see a certain number. By not weighing myself, I don't have to be reminded that I'm not there yet. Genius! But, I also lose sight of what I'm working toward and hence allow myself to eat all the sugar.

The only shot from our anniversary. Full-length photos were not allowed.

3. Don't try clothes on; just buy the size you want. I wanted to look hot for my anniversary night out with Mark. I originally looked at slinky dresses then lacy skirts and finally settled on a cute top and black skinny jeans. I went to Old Navy, armed with a $35 reward and sweet coupon, ready to find something sassy. Except the available sizes were 0, 4, 10, 16 and 18. I am not those sizes. My ego told me to try on the 4 (though my gut should have said 10). The mid-rise curvy style fit. Sort of. Well, I could pull them up with a shimmy, shimmy shake and zip them. So, yeah. A win. I decided that I would do myself a favor and dig for a 6. As luck would have it, I found a pair. Petites, 25 percent off because they don't carry that size in store. I grabbed them and headed to the register. I went to put them on Saturday night and barely got them buttoned. The jeans were not the vanity-sized, forgiving-cut, full-of-stretch pair I had tried on. I felt like a stuffed sausage – just the way I pictured a night out on the town to Mark seven years of marriage.

4. Gather photo evidence. Si was doing this really funny thing the other night. He would get super excited, rocking in his Bumbo, every time I gave him a bite of turkey rice soup. When I gave him a bite of Gerber pureed peas, he'd scrunch up his face and shiver. I told Mark to take a video for posterity. While he failed to get the action (Si got camera shy), he managed to capture the black circles under my eyes, frizzy hair, bloated cheeks and double chin. I instantly deleted it. Even if Si had given an Oscar-worthy performance, it still would have went to the trash can.

5. Wear sassy pants. And by sassy pants, I mean patterned workout tights. I was already into them when I joined the AMR challenge but my participation took it to a ridiculous level. I bought two pairs from Kohl's during Black Friday week. Though cute, they do my legs no favors. I look shorter, heavier and what should be stars look like Miles colored on my leggings.

6. Book it. My company receives media review copies and promotional materials but our ethics policy prevents us from keeping anything we've been sent. At the end of the year, the items are priced at a fraction of the MSRP and sold to benefit charity. This year, I bought "The 17-Day Diet" and "Bikini Fit: The Four-Week Plan" under the guise that they might refresh my memory or provide inspiration re: planning group fitness classes. Instead, they were just ways to make me feel bad about myself. According to "The 17-Day Diet," my plan to lose 15 pounds (at some point) is a bit conservative. I need to lose 25 to 30 pounds. Just when I thought its chart was a bit unrealistic, my co-worker said she fell in the range.

So 25 pounds it is. #passthecelery

After the holidays.

When I'm done nursing.

And all the cereal is gone.

NSV: Finding Success Where I Can

The scale and I have a mutual agreement: I hate it, and it hates me. It's not the ideal relationship but it's not messy or dirty. Simple. Clear cut.

The relationship has become more defined as I try to navigate this whole post-baby body bull shit. I workout, I track my food, I try to eat things I should and avoid the crap. I try to trust in the process. Yet, when I step on the scale it gives me a big middle finger and displays the same number time after time after time. Or, when it's feeling especially sassy, the number goes up.

I hate it. It hates me.

On the rare occasion, after a few weeks of unacceptable numbers from the scale and me on the verge of going all "Office Space" on it, the number jumps down 2 pounds.

"Ha, ha, lady. Just playing. You can put the Tiger Tail away now."

The challenge of losing the weight would be enough to drive even the sanest of people crazy but add in sleep deprivation and hormones and ... well ... it's been tough.

Thankfully, I've found solace in the NSV – non-scale victory to those who haven't spent hours in a Weight Watchers meeting room.

Like finally fitting into one of my favorite pre-baby dresses. I'm not talking like "OK, I can sort of slide this down over my taco pooch" but "Hey, you can't see the rolls." I was very happy and, appropriately, took a bathroom selfie to celebrate. Note: Aren't you glad there's a biohazard box on the wall? Just in case we need to do a rogue appy after lunch.*

And then there's the fact that I can wear a couple pairs of running shorts that were too strained against my hips and too snug on the legs that my thighs ate them and I looked like I was running in a bikini ala the Bugaboo ad. To those in Fort Wayne who witnessed that sight, I am sorry.

There have been some ever satisfying comments from friends who compliment me and tell me they can notice a change – even if the scale is still on my bad side.

Maybe, though, the most rewarding has been checking myself out in the mirror when I teach class. I can see my muscles – the definition in my shoulders, the biceps pop when I curl. I might not ever be skinny-skinny the way I was at my lowest weight two kids ago but damn if I won't be strong.

So the scale can suck it. I might be losing weight at a snail's pace but I'm taking back my old self piece-by-piece.

*Obviously, I have been watching far too much "Grey's Anatomy" while I nurse.

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.

You've Got The Look {A Three Things Thursday Post}

"To me, you've got the perfect body."

I had to keep my mouth from dropping when one of my group fit participants gave me the compliment. Me? The perfect body? I am not sure that phrase has been ever been assigned to me. And, to be honest, I just didn't see it.

I see arms that flap in the wind. I see a belly that jiggles. I see thighs that touch. I have legs with bumps and wrinkles. And the number on the scale? Well, it hasn't been so nice to me this week*.

But that's not what she saw. She saw someone who was healthy but not emaciated. She saw someone with muscle tone but not muscles. I also think she saw someone who was approachable, realistic and aspirational**.

The idea of how a personal trainer or group fitness instructor has been something I've been thinking about a lot lately.

1. It's my job to not just give people a good workout but give them something to work toward. I am supposed to be a role model. It's hard to feel deserving of the responsibility when  I am very much in the same place they are – trying to rein in the diet, lose weight and improve my health. But, I am finding my participants' dedication and journeys to be great motivation. I want to be better for them!

2. Thanks to Beachbody and Advocare, there seems to be an explosion of fitness and health "coaches" – a title that comes with a credit card transaction and a desire to sell. Via Facebook, I've seen people of all shapes and sizes seek to motivate and inspire people to get healthy, lose weight and gain a sense of community ... at the price of their particular program. It's great to see so many people take a chance on exercise thanks to these programs and be introduced to them by friends.

I hate to admit it but I have found myself questioning these folks, often allowing myself to feel (maybe wrongly so) more entitled to lead others on a fitness journey.

3. On a superficial level, I think there is a look clothing-wise to being a trainer. You can't just show up in ratty shorts and a cotton T-shirt. I feel like I need some more workout clothes as I've noticed many of my capris are older and starting to show some wear.

I'm super in love with the Fila Sport Maui Skimmer. I bought a pair about a month ago, and I love the wide waist band. I just saw a floral pattern and, well, it made my heart stop. I'm also anticipating some major rewards from my Old Navy card, and it's tempting to splurge on the Quest Metro Slouch Capri from Athleta. I think they'd be perfect for Piloxing. And though I'm not sure what a tennis capri is, I like what Nike has out.

I'm going to try to wait on the capris – at least a bit. New clothes are always a good reward for reaching health goals!

* Note: Dear Kim, Stop eating like an asshole. Sugar is not good for you. Also, drink more water.

** I don't think this is a word, and I'm OK with that.

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.

The First Race Back: Girls on the Run 5K Recap

"We missed you yesterday!!! Are you doing Girls on the Run?"

Joe couldn't possibly have been texting me. Me, the girl who was 7 weeks post-partum and barely running 3 miles. Of course, I was the girl who missed the Memorial Day run because of a fussy baby (and mama) meltdown. The run just happened to be "yesterday."

D'oh.

I told him no. I hadn't planned on returning tot he starting line so soon after Silas but, more pressing, I had both boys on Saturday as Mark was chaperoning a class trip to Cedar Point. I have a BOB Ironman but it's a single, and I plan on keeping it that way.

But that Joe. He told me his daughter, who just finished her freshman year, could entertain Miles, freeing me up to push Silas.

So it was. I was going to run the weekend 5K.

Pre-race: I don't normally include these details because they are usually rather boring and banal but I was rather proud of my ability to physically get to the race. I had to leave by 7:45 a.m. to get to the start, ensuring enough time to hook up with Joe and top off Si if necessary. On Friday night, I laid out two sets of clothes for everyone (we were going to a friend's after) and packed a lunch box of snacks for Miles. I pumped up the tires on the BOB and put it in my hatchback. On Saturday, Silas woke up just after 6 a.m., and he actually had a good feeding. Happy, I put him in the swing and got breakfast for Miles and me. Silas still chill in the swing, I got everyone dressed and bags in the car. The clock read 7:10. Damn. We were rocking. I picked up Si and tried to nurse him a bit more before heading out the door at 7:30. Fifteen minutes ahead of schedule! How does that even happen with two kids and one adult?!?

#humblebrag over

The race: I was in a sea of pink and green, tiny legs and full hearts. Ponytails full of glitter sparkled in the morning sun and strips of tulle bounced as the excitement built. The race, after all, was really for the girls who spent the spring semester of school preparing for this day.

As for me, I had spent zero time preparing. I had only been running for two weeks and though I'd ran the distance, the outings were not without convenient breaks for traffic and water. My only official goal was to go out and have fun, garnering a time to use as a baseline to see how I improve over the summer. On a dream day, if someone had asked, I thought it would be rad to squeak under 30.

But it wasn't a dream day. And that's OK.

It was hot and humid, with the temperature nearing 70 at 8:30 a.m. The cloudless sky was a relief with rain dominating the forecast but it freed the sun, allowing it to be unrelenting.

I had seeded myself mid-pack, not wanting to get caught up with my friends who had more ambitious goals. The announcer counted down and with a "1 and Go" we were off, a wave of cheers coming from the crowd. The pack began slow and though it would have nice to bolt from the line, I appreciated the more comfortable pace, especially since I was pushing the stroller (with a sleeping Silas! Hooray!), which offers about 50 pounds of resistance.

I managed to find some space by the first mile and pick up the pace but I was by no means flying. The heat was taking its toll –  the sweat had began to drip within the first half mile and pour by the first. When the water stop came at the halfway point, I was happy to stop and walk through. I grabbed a cup and then a second.

After the water stop, we headed into a neighborhood and twisted and turned through the maze of streets. I tried my best to run tangents but maneuvering the BOB, which has a fixed front wheel, proved difficult. But it was fine. Why whine about that when I was running a race and Silas was still sleeping?

Note: Later, Joe asked how I managed to get Si to sleep through 3.1 miles. I have no idea. Magic milk or dark magic? All I can say is someone was looking out for me, especially when I factored in his poor sleeping that week.

One of the fun parts about this race was listening to the run buddies and girls. There was so much encouragement and positive talk that I couldn't help but smile and try my best. One of the girls said that when she gets tired, she just tells herself one foot at a time. You just put one in front of the other.

Amen, sister.

So as I grew more tired at the mile 2 marker (a purple "2" helium balloon), I just made it my mission to put one foot in front of the other. Relentless forward motion, y'all.

As I rounded toward the finish, I tried to pick it up. After all, I used to have a kick. A good one.

Oh, how times have changed ... temporarily.

I was buoyed to see the clock read 31 minutes as I headed toward the balloon arch. I had ran without a watch as my Garmin has been a POS, not finding satellites, and had no idea what my pace had been. I just knew it felt slow.

As I crossed the timing mats, I felt tired. Done. But there were cheers and words of encouragement as I crossed the timing mats. Miles was there with his new friend, as was Joe who finished fifth overall. A Girls on the Run coach, whom I had passed and then passed me, told me I was her mother runner hero.

And I couldn't help but feel 100 percent ecstatic.

Amid sleepless nights and marathon nursing sessions, I had 31 minutes where I rejoined my community and took back myself.

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.

It's Going Down {Week In Review}

Friends! It's been so long and there's been so much I've wanted to share. Rather than try to catch up with beyond late recaps (something I despise), I thought I'd give you a rundown of my week.

Monday

I drove home from Cincinnati with the two boys. Silas is still at a good age for traveling as he will sleep most of the time, and Miles is happy with an iPad and headphones. Of course, it doesn't mean that it's easy. We made two stops to eat over the course of 148 miles and drank lots of {decaf} coffee.

The trip was worth it, though. Grandma got to meet Silas, and Miles got some major quality time with his aunt and uncle. They took him to the Newport Aquarium on Saturday and the Cincinnati Zoo on Sunday, spoiling him with pictures, presents and face painting.

Tuesday

I kicked off the morning with a barbell workout so I could gauge my fitness as I plan my return to teaching. Short story: I am out of shape and lunges really hurt – not just in the hurt so good way but in the "oh, I had major surgery" sort of way.

In the afternoon, I met up with BRF Tami and made the drive to Indianapolis for the Another Mother Runner party. It was all kinds of fabulous. I got four hours of face time in the car with Tami, and it was much needed as we haven't ran together in ... Wait. I'm not going to even count it or I'll be sad. Athletic Annex, where the party took place, was packed with mother runners who were open, kind and hilarious. (If you want a better recap of an AMR party, here's a post I wrote from the Columbus fete in 2013.)

Note: If you want to make new friends, bring a baby. Silas got more attention than I did!

Wednesday

Wednesday nights might be favorite as I don't have to cook. Well, I might have found away to make it better.

Since I've been on leave, I ride with Mark to pick up Miles and head to my in-laws' house for dinner. (When I'm working, I meet them there after I get off.) This week, I told Mark to take Silas to pick up Miles, and I ran to my in-laws' house. I arrived just as Mark was pulling up, having logged 2 miles at 9:52 pace.

Thursday

I tried to trick Mark, and I failed. Miserably.

Mark hates beans. Despises them. It's a fact that can make cooking a bit tricky, especially when I'm making Mexican or soups. I made an enchilada casserole for dinner but used refried beans instead of black, mixing them into the sauce. I was sure he wouldn't notice.

But he did. And then he made a frozen pizza and I sulked.

Friday

I had my six-week post partum check-up, and I am officially cleared for all activity. My doctor said to set low expectations for myself as I just had major surgery but I couldn't do any damage to the incision.

So I celebrated ... by taking a walk.

I don't remember when I first put Miles in the BOB with the car seat adapter, it might have been six weeks, but fitness-wise I'm not sure I'm ready to run with the stroller. Walking is also a more attractive option in the afternoon when you can include the neighborhood coffee shop on your route and pop in for an iced Americano.

Saturday

I pumped like gangbusters and did something I've been itching to do for months: I went on a group run.

I met the running group moms for an "easy" 3 after my friend's daughter ran a 5K. The morning was beautiful and we were on a portion of well-shaded trail. Conversation flowed and Tay followed on her bike. (Also along for the ride: Two green worms, which I found on my person at the end of the run. ICK!)

I'm not gonna lie, though. Physically, the run was tough. I pretty much felt like a rhinoceros running through mud. I know it will get better; I just need to be consistent and patient.

Sunday

I marked the beginning of my return to running by making another return. This time, it was at Dick's. Mark was very kind (and complimentary) and bought me a pair of shorts.

In size small.

Once upon a time, they might have fit but not at this juncture. I'm trying to honor my body by wearing things that fit so we took them back for a larger size. I'm also trying to be positive and didn't buy a cart full of larger shorts. The smaller ones will fit in time and when they do, I'll go buy another pair or two to celebrate : )

Tell me: How did your week fare?

Humbled

It was just a 10-minute YouTube video that I found with the ever clever search "arm workout."

Except that it wasn't. It was an eye-opener.

Silas was napping on Tuesday (well, I thought he was napping but that's neither here nor there), and it presented me with a much anticipated opportunity. It was my chance to add in some low intensity resistance training. I didn't want much and I expected even less. The goal was to get in something and regain some of the tone that I had lost over the previous three weeks.

I grabbed a set of 5-pound dumbbells and cued up a quick workout. It began with 10 rep sets of front raises and lateral raises, which target the shoulders. Five pounds would have been my go-to weight for barbell class, which has far more than 10 reps. It was a weight that felt good, sometimes easy.

Well, by rep seven, I realized that 5 pounds was no longer comfortably challenging for muscular endurance training. It was downright hard.

I wanted to cry ... but Silas took care of that for me. I waited a few reps to see whether he was having a moment or actually waking up. Just as the workout moved onto overhead presses, I realized that he was up and I was done. I could have been disappointed ... but I was relieved. I could stop the workout, stop feeling weak and do it without "quitting." I had to take care of Silas, after all.

I might have forgotten the situation or buried it under the Boppy, at least, if it hadn't been for Miles. The little stinker. That night, he saw the weight peaking out from under the couch. He picked it up and with one and, did a shoulder press.

"Look how strong I am, Mom!" he shouted. "Look how strong I am."

Yeah, buddy. You are so strong.

As for momma, she's got some work to do.

And that's OK. Honestly, I'm a bit excited to create a strength training plan and see where it takes me. I think I'm going to focus on muscular endurance, incorporating high reps, low weights and lots of body weight. I might even get crazy and get my hands on PiYo for some ideas and workouts.

Have you ever tried PiYo? What are your thoughts?

Note: I started this post last week but, well, I didn't finish it till today. Whoops.

Three for Three {A Three Things Thursday post}

I have to say that if you could grade maternity leave, I am totally acing it. ACING IT.

1. In addition to the diapers, wipes and mesh undies, I think hospitals need to give out Kindles. Seriously. I did not have one when I was home with Miles, and I am not sure how I did it. It's easy to use while nursing and it keeps me awake during middle of the night feedings – this is clutch since I have a serious problem nodding off with Si at the boob.

So far, I have read:

• "The Girl on the Train"
• "The Husband's Secret"
• "The Light Between Oceans" (10 percent finished)

It's really nice to actually read – not listen to an audiobook but read. It's been a long time, and it makes me feel in the loop (now I get the hype about "Girl on the Train") and feel like my brain actually works.

2. But as much as I've been reading, I am still planted on the couch and Netflix is my BFF. I'm making headway on a goal to watch the entire series of "Parenthood" (watching episode 9 of season 2 as I type this) and Jess got me hooked on "Bloodline."* I throw in some "Diners, Dive-Ins and Drives" for levity now that I watched all the "Pioneer Woman" that streaming has to offer.

*Does anyone else remember Kyle Chandler from "Early Edition"? I had a mad crush on him when I was in high school.

3. I'm really trying to work on my diet now that I'm settling into life with two kids. I know it took nine months to put on the weight, it takes time to take off ... blah, blah, blah. But I do not feel like myself and I need every sliver of her I can get. Like pants. I can't even wear real pants yet and I like real pants.

Anyway, improving my diet makes me feel better. The focus is eating vegetables – all of them  – and cutting out the sugar. Here are some of the things I'm eating.

• Bagged salad mix with salsa, sour cream or plain yogurt and guacamole. If I close my eyes, it's like eating nachos.
• Mixed nuts with dark chocolate chips. OK, so they are sugar but a few chips are not super high in calories and they're good for heart health. Right? Right. Also, they pair really well with coffee. 
• Lasagna with sliced zucchini instead of pasta noodles. A friend brought over a huge pan to help with meals but Mark isn't so into the vegetable substitution. Rather than serve it for dinner, I froze it in portions and have been eating it for lunch. It's not just tasty but easy to prepare, even if I'm cuddling a baby. Throw the dish in the microwave, press a few buttons and voila! A veggie-dense lunch in minutes.

What have you been rocking lately?

Back on my feet

The discharge instructions from the hospital in regards to my C-section are fairly standard. No driving for 10 to 14 days. If I have increased pain or swelling at the site of the incision, seek medical attention. Follow up with the doctor in six weeks.

But what struck me as vague, at best, and problematic, at worst, was the plan of care for activity.

"Activity as tolerated. ... Return to regular diet and activity as tolerated."

Well, then, it's time to bust out the running shoes.

Ha! Just kidding.

Even though running has taught me to tolerate a lot of things, including discomfort and reasonable amounts of pain, it has also instilled a valuable lesson: Don't be stupid with your body. I would love to go for a run right now but I wouldn't deem it prudent.

However, I have been feeling the itch to be active again as my pain levels drop each day. I'm 19 days post partum, and I have little discomfort around the incision at rest or during activities of daily life. Any troubles seem to be internal and more than likely related to the uterus shrinking down to size (according to my very non-expert personal opinion).

I decided to test the road on Monday with a short walk to see how everything felt. I got Silas settled in the stroller and headed out for a mile loop that I did a lot during my run streak – also with Silas. Sort of.

It was windier, cloudier and chillier than I had hoped but it felt good to move. So good. I didn't have any pain – dull or jabbing – at the incision site during the walk. The only awareness was muscular in nature. Like, holy hell, woman. Your body was cut open 17 days ago and you want to do this. It quieted down, though, within minutes of arriving home.

Baby neck rolls! Note: I had a hat on him and had his head covered for the walk. It just didn't work for the selfie :)

Feeling confident and a wee bit bored on Tuesday, I strapped Silas into the carrier to see how we would fare on a longer jaunt. And by longer, I mean 1.5 miles total. I didn't want to push my body or him, as we're still establishing a nursing schedule. (*Refer to the part about not being stupid.) It was warmer, sunnier and lovelier. He napped, I listened to a podcast on speaker and enjoyed the day.

Even though I'm out for 30 minutes or less, it's amazing what the walks do for me. I feel bright, alert and enthusiastic. I rang my grandma during another 1.5 miles this morning and she noted that I sounded back to normal.

"Not yet," I replied. "But soon."