Monthly Archives: March 2010

running preggo

post bridge run

I’m a runner. I wasn’t always. In fact, up until the age of 18, when I went off to college and began to fear the fabled freshman 15, I did pretty much zero exercise. Even then and for the next several years, I was a pseudo-runner, heading out for a leisurely 2-3 miles when it suited me, sometimes taking long hiatuses because it conflicted with my busy schedule of studying, waiting tables, and drinking. Pete and I often ran together, but still never on such a regular schedule or with a level of devotion and intensity that I’d have dubbed either of us bona-fide runners. Then we moved to Mebane. And Pete became more enraptured with cycling. And he abandoned poor little lonely me at least twice, often thrice a week for his group rides. I needed something to occupy my time, and if that something also helped me to get back in shape and lose some of the 10 or so pounds I’d piled on since moving away from the mountains, well sign me up! That’s exactly what I did. I signed up. For the Mebane Running Club.

That was Spring of 2006. Four years later and I’m a total addict. I cannot imagine my life without running. It’s a part of who I am, a need, somewhere up there on Maslow’s hierarchy near food and sex, maybe slightly less important than breathing. Sure, there are still times when I hate it. When my legs feel like lead and my lungs ache and I suffer through a few miles spending the entire jaunt thinking of how much this sucks and how many other awesome things I could be doing. Show me an addiction that isn’t challenging, that doesn’t slap you around every now and then and twang every string of emotion on your mental banjo. Yeah, I just made that up. Banjos got a bad rap from Deliverance. They deserve a second chance.

When I found out I was pregnant, though I was acutely aware of the limitations I would soon face, I really had no idea just how limited I would be, especially when it came to running. I always imagined myself a fit preggo, mostly because I was a fit non-preggo and why suddenly change just because I was growing a baby inside me? On the contrary, I only saw that as more of a challenge and I maybe, sort of, just a wee bit thrive on competition and challenge. Well, guess what? It’s hard. Harder than I expected. Which is plain silly, because how could it not be? There’s 25 extra pounds (and growing) hanging around on my body. Carrying that in conjunction with increasing diaphragm pressure and a baby sucking up much of my fuel makes for a much slower Sarah. But I loooooove running and I’m keeping at it for as long as I’m physically comfortable doing so, and definitely plan to stop before potentially causing any long term damage to my uterus. I mean, no one wants their uterus to fall out. And someone once told me this could happen. She was perhaps overly dramatic about it, but all the same, she’s a smart lady and I’d rather not risk it.

This past weekend I went to Charleston with 8 other ladies from the fine town of Mebane and we all participated in the Cooper River Bridge Run 10K. I had set my expectations very low and was totally prepared to walk some of the race, but by taking it easy and paying close attention to my pace and breathing I was able to run all 6.2 miles! And I felt amazingly good. Everyone kicked ass, and I was so proud of all my buddies. This morning I hit the pavement for 3 pre-dawn miles with some of those same ladies, and maybe Saturday I’ll get in some running club action. Must run while I can! I fear the end is near and I’m not sure how I’ll cope with so much time off. I suppose I’ll just have to set my sights on a late Fall race to give me a goal for getting back on the wagon. Twitch, twitch, twitch.


over the weekend

We joined our neighborhood pals in attending the South Mebane Elementary Dance – this is where our little ones will go.

My best gal pals put on a lovely birthday brunch in my honor and I got a wee spring sunburn eating on Annie’s deck!

Birthday shopping trip with Ma – running shoes, Old Navy dress (thanks Beth and Rebecca!), Liberty of London for Target preggo bikini and more!

I rocked 7.5 miles of walk-run intervals on the American Tobacco Trail while Pete ran 12. Superstar!

Pizza lunch, nap, bread making, grocery shopping and fish tacos on the back porch to close out a fabulous weekend.

dress love (for baby!)

I want a sewing machine. I’ve wanted one for quite some time, but have put it off mostly because I’m wary of spending on money on something that quite possibly could wind up collecting dust as I repeatedly push it down the priority list in favor of things that don’t require learning. Although, I did finally tackle the great bread baking challenge which turned out to be much easier than I would ever have imagined, so perhaps sewing could be one of my undiscovered talents that I just need to give a go to. Especially with little lovely coming soon because there are endless fun sewing projects for little ones like bedding, bibs, clothes, hairbands and more. Which brings me to the reason for this post:

Hipster Swing Dress for a little girl?! Be still my heart. And I could make this?! Yes. Need sewing machine. Now.

Dress posted at Prudent Baby.

preggo blues

Last week I was blindsided with a bout of depression. It started Monday and seemed to get worse as the week wore on. In the throes of it all, I felt utterly helpless and out of control as I truly had no idea why it was happening and could not seem to find my way out of it. Days seemed to begin well and fine. Though I certainly wasn’t ambling through the AM with perk, my mornings weren’t so melancholy. But as I made my way through the day I seemed to settle into some sort of heavyhearted fog, and any challenge or problem that arose, no matter the insignificance, left me fighting back tears and desperate to hide under the allegorical rock. By the time I would get in my car to head home, I’d be mostly miserable, occasionally balling, and unpleasantly pensive. Poor Pete surely thought that Monday was a fluke, until Tuesday and Wednesday followed with the same woeful wife bumbling around the house in the evenings with the most pitiful sad face and not a happy thing to say. The unexplainable sadness subsisted through Saturday with more than one tearful fit, snotting into the pillow case, sobbing pathetically about nothing. It was an ugly mess.

Thankfully, come Sunday, it began to subside, and today, though there’s still a puff of dark cloud lingering, the bout appears to be ending. Now, with more of a clear head, I am trying my darndest to understand why. It would be easy to simply blame the pregnancy hormones and move on, but this is supposed to be the “honeymoon” phase. All should be peachy keen in preggoland and all the websites, books, other mothers and more have been preaching the perks of the second trimester, with not a peep about depression. Aha. Therein lies what I believe to be the root of the problem. All the pregnancy hype you hear about this trimester would lead one to believe that she should feel like a superstar right now. Not just any superstar, but a beautiful baby making superstar with great hair and skin and tons of energy and pride. So when I look in the mirror and see a face riddled with the ridiculous hormone induced acne of an adolecent, when I fight to fit into the few remaining things in my closet that feel even remotely comfortable, when I plod heavy legged through a 3 mile run that was once a light workout, when I have to ask for help every time I need anything over 20 lbs moved or lifted, forgive me if I don’t feel like I’m kicking ass and taking names. I truly believe that this abstraction from what’s “normal” is the culprit, or at the very least the instigator, of my unhappiness. So. F you pregnancy norms.

There’s more. Up until Saturday, I had yet to feel her. Honestly, even now, I can’t be sure that what I think might be movement isn’t actually gas or simply imagined. I’ve been patient. Especially since learning at our last appointment that I have an anterior placenta. This basically means that my placenta has settled between my baby and my belly. Because of this, I am less likely to feel her early punches and kicks. I accepted this, albeit disappointedly. But on top of all else I was bummed about, not reaching this milestone became a bit much to bear. I know she’s there. I’ve seen her, I’ve heard her heartbeat, my belly is ever growing. Now I want more. Perhaps I’m being needy and selfish, or perhaps there’s some paranoia to it, but I so desperately want to have this new connection with her, to get daily reminders of just how real she is, to share that moment with Pete when he first can lay his hand on my belly and feel her too, I want this more than anything else in life right now and so not having it pains me to the core. It’s INSANE! All this hugely powerful emotion over a baby not yet born. I’ve said it before. I can’t even begin to fathom what it will be like when she actually comes into this world. Deep breath.

Saturday, during our three hour Lowe’s debacle, I hit a blood sugar low, complete with shakes and sweat. Of course, had we planned to be out that long I would have brought a snack. It was then that I think I first felt her. Clearly she was equally pissed about the lack of food. She’s her mother’s daughter already. There was some fluttering which I’m almost certain was baby action. On Monday we head back to the doc and I’ll be able to once again hear her heartbeat. Hopefully too, before long, she’ll be big enough to kick and jab so hard that no placenta will stand in her way. Be strong little lovely, show mommy how tough you are!

PS On Friday, deep in the heart of depression, I read this blog post about Grace on Simple Mom. It helped a lot. “Take care of yourself, mama.” Damn straight.

over the weekend (super late!)

We went to the Graham Cinema and saw Sherlock Holmes – tickets, unlimited popcorn and diet pepsi = $14.

We turned a seemingly easy Lowe’s trip for fence supplies into a three hour battle over a mispriced board. We won!

We made more delicious bread. Hearth loaf mastered. Ready for something more challenging!

We used said bread for apple cinnamon french toast to kick off a beautiful Sunday.

I planted cabbage, onions, chives, spinach, lettuce, chard, and cilantro in our garden plot.

Pete ran 10.5 miles! His longest run ever and a huge step toward completing his Half Ironman training. Less than 8 weeks to go.