Health – …and she runs.

February 11, 2015February 11, 2015

Training for a half marathon, on a treadmill

I’m running a half marathon in three days, but you wouldn’t know it by the number of times my Garmin has tracked runs lately.

Because that number would be zero.

But my miles logged are as impressive as I could hope for with a very active nearly 10-month old running my life lately. I could wake up very, very early to run. I could. But I’ve never been a morning runner.

My life used to revolve around 10-hour days working at a newspaper, then jumping straight in my car to meet my running buddies for a six-miler.

Now I’m trying to prevent my precocious baby from escaping the family room into the kitchen area where the three dogs would love to lick all over her as she splashes in their water bowls.

That image pretty much sums up my day today (a non-teaching day).

My schedule doesn’t align with my husband’s at all. He works an hour away. He leaves later than the commute. He gets home sometimes as late as 9 p.m.

I don’t live in a particularly bad area, but I’ve never been a huge fan of taking the jogging stroller out in the evening, even with a head lamp. And let’s be practical: My baby goes to sleep at 7:30 p.m.

I can’t leave the house once she’s down. I’m hoping that’s stating the obviously.

So I close her bedroom door, grab her monitor, put something on my iPad and run as far and as fast as I can before 10 p.m. Sometimes my runs start at 7:30 p.m. Sometimes I start at 8:30 p.m. It really depends on how quickly I get through the bath, bottle and sleep routine.

I’m not complaining. The commute makes his pay worth it. The pay is the reason we have a beautiful home and live a comfortable life. (Real talk: My teaching income is nice, but I’m part time. My freelance income has taken a hit since Cecilia was born because I just can’t do what I used to do.)

But the commute runs our life. I have a 30-minute commute too when I head to work. It used to be 20-minutes, but I go further into town than I once did and the highway has been under construction for more than a year.

So I have to run when I can.

All of my training for this half marathon has been treadmill based.

I know that can potentially be bad. I’m kind of willing to take the chance because it’s the only way I get the runs in.

So I’ve cranked the speed. I’ve moved between an incline of .5 and 1. I’ve done tempo training, distance runs and speed work. Today I went on my first outside run in a long time because my daughter was particularly cranky.

And outside of a front wheel that kept going wonky (my husband needs to check the bearings), it didn’t feel as bad as I thought it would. It was slower than my treadmill speed, but I was also dealing with a cranky baby and cranky wheel.

I’m also still very unsure of myself with the stroller. I’m worried about cars pulling out of driveways or coming at me in intersections. Valid worries.

I want to do a race report that essentially says “look I can train on a treadmill and still run a half.” But I’m not sure that will happen. I don’t know how Saturday will go. It’s a mostly flat and fast course on trail.

I just no I have no hip pain. That’s a plus. And the only thing that bothered me were my foot arches and that stopped after about a mile.

But it was only two miles. I need to add 11.1 to that for a half marathon.

Did I mention the half is a Christmas gift on Valentine’s Day? My husband’s present is that he is going kayaking on the water next to the course while my mother-in-law watches our daughter. It’s the perfect date for us, even if we won’t be together the whole time.

We’ll see how it goes.

January 11, 2015January 11, 2015

Loving my body again: A tale of broken boobs

My daughter will be nine-months old on Thursday. When people meet her, there’s generally a consensus about how happy she is, how much she smiles and how good of a disposition she has. I’m lucky that at this point in the mommy game, I’m rarely getting asked the question that I was so frequently at the beginning.

“Are you nursing?”

“That’s complicated,” was the standard and necessary response.

“How can it be complicated?” was usually the retort.

It just was.

The honest truth? I tried. I tried with every fiber of my being. I willed myself to get up when night was at its darkest. I spent early morning hours in my daughter’s nursery while she was sleeping soundly in her bassinet next to where I was supposed to be in bed. I wanted my breasts to be engorged when I woke up in the morning. I wanted the discomfort of knowing when I needed to feed my child.

And I got none of that.

In fact, my daughter recoiled from me so much whenever I tried that I would cry in my bathroom with the door closed so my husband couldn’t hear me. I’d flush the toilet when he came in just to avoid the questions of what I was doing locked up behind a bathroom door I rarely close (because no one ever comes into our master bedroom but us).

In her birth story, I talked about how I felt my body failed me. I felt betrayed. I had spent years running my butt off to be fit enough to have a complication-free pregnancy. I ran and did yoga. I didn’t gain a ton of weight.

Then, at about 26 weeks, everything started to fall apart. My legs swelled. My body pressure began rising. By 32 weeks I was being monitored twice weekly.

The gut punch after I’d already spent time crying over all that? My daughter screaming at me whenever I tried to put her to my breast.

So I pumped.

Feverishly. Ferociously. Determined. Intent. Angry even.

I pumped so often that for my first Mother’s Day, less than a month after Cecilia was born, my husband bought me one of those “hands free” pumping bras so I didn’t have to hold the pump to my chest for 30-plus minutes at a time.

At first it was six times a day. Then I got a solid flow going. Or what I thought was a solid flow. I dropped down to five times a day and still yielded the same amount.

“Stimulate your breasts” everyone kept advising. I spent so much damn time stimulating my breasts that by the end of the day, my breast pump should have bought me a drink. And dinner. Preferably something at a steak restaurant.

And yet? So very little came out.

The worse part was that it seemed very few women, other mothers included, could remotely understand what I was going through. Instead, they offered tips to how to increase my supply as if I hadn’t scoured the Internet for hours on end, at my wit’s end, looking for a solution.

“Have you tried drinking more water?” Yes. I’m a runner. I drink a ton of water.

“Did you make those lactation cookies I told you about?” No, but I bought some online and they didn’t work.

“Maybe a beer would help.” I hate beer. Next.

“Try wine.” Did that. It was delicious. But no change.

“You should get one of those breast shields that act like a nipple, they do wonders.” Have one. Tried it. She realized I was trying to fool her. She’s a smart baby.

“Fenugreek.” Yes. That too. Already been there, done that.

“You know, if you stopped running, you’d probably have more milk.”

Really? I mean, really? The running was at one point the only think keeping me from being a crying mess in my husband’s arms as I did a Kim Khardasian ugly cry about how my daughter hated my boobs.

I’m a practical woman. I’ve spent a lot of time in the past few years learning to react based on evidence and logic rather than emotion. But even I knew what I had found myself in the middle of: the mommy war.

Because the mommy war is real. And while I’ve met some graciously supportive mothers who have let me cry on their shoulder or on the phone with them, I’ve also had first-hand experience with the women who tell me that my daughter will die of SIDS if I don’t breastfeed. Or how I can restart my breastfeeding now and “give it another go” because the formula will make her obese.

At four months, as I was gearing up to go back to teaching and advising, my milk started to dry up. My peak output was about six ounces a day. I had been supplementing since my daughter was born.

In a two week period, I went down to an ounce. Five pumping sessions a day and all I could get was an ounce.

A lonely bottle, that took four days to fill, marked the point where I made the decision to stop hating my body. I’d had enough. My daughter was turning four months old. I wasn’t producing milk. I was going back to work. And I no longer wanted to be attached to a breast pump everywhere I went.

Call it selfish. Others have.

But I was done.

I couldn’t bear to look at myself in the mirror most days because of the vitriol being spewed at me for not breastfeeding from others — but mostly from myself.

There was a moment, as I was frustratingly finding clothes to wear my first day of teaching after 18 weeks at home in yoga pants and spandex where I looked up into my bedroom mirror, saw my reflection — crazy hair, red face, tears, baby throw up on my shirt — and said: “I don’t hate myself.”

Because despite my body failing me, I managed to bring an eight-pound baby into this world. I somehow didn’t mess her up with all the things I did wrong those first few weeks, including not realizing she wasn’t getting ANYTHING from my breasts. And she was happy.

Bottles and all.

Cecilia was sleeping at the time. I put on my running clothes, inched her door shut and jumped on the treadmill. I ran the best two miles of my life that day. I was no longer finding reasons to not to love my body.

Cecilia’s pediatrician reaffirmed how wonderfully she was doing at her four-month check up. When I expressed frustration about pumping, she was one of the first medical professionals to tell me it was OK. She put her hand on my shoulder and said: “Mom, you tried. That’s all we can ask.” She smiled at me with a look of reassurance. I know she wasn’t just telling me what I wanted to hear. I’m thankful she said it in front of my husband, who had urged me to continue pumping, despite my low yield.

Nine months after her birth, I still have stomach hangover. I struggle to fit into my clothes. I’m constantly battling my diet as I try to find out what works for post-baby Tara. But I ran 10 miles this morning, albeit on the treadmill, and never once considered stopping because it was too hard even though I’m running faster than I was before I conceived.

A few months ago, another mother I respect very much whose daughter is a few months younger than Cecilia called me because she, too, was struggling with breastfeeding. I didn’t do what was done to me. I didn’t make suggestions for how to increase her milk supply. I didn’t ask a ton of questions in hopes of helping her “see the light” as one mother did to me.

I told her the words that I’d wish I’d heard at the beginning:

“Sometimes it doesn’t work. That’s OK. It doesn’t make you a bad mother. It makes you human. If it’s not working, stop. If it’s causing you undue stress, stop. It’s hard enough to be a first-time mother without hearing all of that. If anyone tells you otherwise, tell them to mind their own business.”

Broken boobs are not the end of the world. My daughter’s health and happiness, and my own, are more important than being hooked up to a breast pump five times a day to squeeze a few ounces out.

And in order for me to truly be a good mother, I have to love myself as much as I love my little girl.

July 3, 2014August 9, 2014

When a good run changes everything

Pregnancy does a number on a woman’s body. I say that, now 11 weeks postpartum, only minutes after trying to find professional clothes to wear to a formal event. It, obviously, changes the abdomen. Even though everyone swore I was “all tummy,” my legs and arms feel deflated.

The day before I was induced, I weighed 205 pounds. I’ve never weighed that much in my life. I hit 200 right before I started running and vowed to never do that again. Pregnancy was a different circumstance, though, so I allowed myself to gain without looking at the scale as long as I felt good.

My problem was that the high-blood pressure that led to Cecilia arriving three weeks early caused me to massively retain water. Within two days of her arrival, I was down nearly 30 pounds. As much as I’m ashamed to admit I gained 10 pounds back AFTER she was born, I also know I’ve been working to rebuild my muscle bulk that I lost when I stopped running at 30 weeks.

But my body is no doubt different.

And I’m incredibly insecure about it.

That’s what I took into the See Jane Run 5K on June 22. I came out of it, though, with a renewed confidence.

I had two goals for this race:

Finish strong
Preferably finish under 45 minutes

I’m happy to report I did both. My 5K time wasn’t my slowest to date by any means. I ran a comfortable 32:49. I didn’t push myself too hard. I didn’t give up. I just ran. When I got to the end of the first mile and felt good, I reset my thinking and wanted to finish each mile with a 10 in front of it.

I did that.

Mile 1: 10:33 — I paced myself behind two women who I overheard say they were “taking it easy.”

Mile 2: 10:56 — This included a water stop and walk break because I still can’t drink and run at the same time.

Mile 3: 10:36 — My legs were burning a little, but I also feel like I was coming alive.

Mile .11: 1.26 — Also, I forgot to turn off my Garmin right at the finish. Amateur mistake, but one that was easy to make since I haven’t raced since October.

I ran the 5K so fast that my husband hadn’t even unloaded our daughter from the car and brought her to the finish line yet. So I ended up wandering around for a bit.

That led me to the “I run for a reason …” chalkboard put up by race organizers. I used to run to be a better me, which is obviously still a laudable goal.

I have a new reason.

For the first time, I crossed the finish line as a mother. I longed to grab my baby girl up and give her a big hug, which I did after she woke up from a very much needed nap.

My husband took the photo above and another of me looking forward. I love the one above so much more than that one. I was having a conversation with her at a picnic table behind the race area while another new mom breastfed next to me.

I add all this into the typical race recap because as I sat there pondering how my See Jane Run ambassador shirt didn’t fit as well, how my legs look a little more deflated than usual and how my stomach was more prominent than before, I realized that none of that really mattered.

Nearly 10 weeks prior to this race, I had major surgery to give birth to my first child and, despite my complications, she came out perfectly healthy, with 10 fingers and 10 toes.

Some women say there body isn’t wrecked, their stretch marks are tiger stripes, etc. I’m saying it’s OK that my body isn’t what it once was. Especially right now.

So my tummy is a little more flabby than usual. I’m thicker across the middle. My arms are fatter too. My Lululemon tanks are more stretched out across my chest. Whatever.

I had spent three weeks trying incrementally to get to three miles on my training runs for this 5K. I finally succeeded the Thursday before I ran 3.1. My confidence was shot. I kept feeling as if I’d never run distances again.

Since this run, I’ve run multiple four milers. Two nights ago I made it to 5.14 before I turned off my Garmin and walked it in because the wind was so bad where I was running.

The See Jane Run 5K was a good run for me. It’s propelled me to other good runs.

Why? Because my body remembered. Despite the excess baggage and the mental uncertainty, my body remembered what it was like to run and what it felt like to knock out three miles.

I’m not saying it was easy.

But I got to the finish.

One of the reasons I’m proud to be a See Jane Run Ambassador is because of the company’s motto:

“If you can run a mile, you can run a marathon.”

The nine weeks before this race and post baby, I was having serious doubts about whether or not I would be able to run distance again. I know that’s hyperbole, but I honestly felt as if everything in my life had change. It has, truthfully. But I was amazed at the end of this race when I realized something awesome: My body remembered. By mile three, I felt as if I was only warming up.

For weeks I had run two miler after two miler and just felt horrible. I needed See Jane Run to be a good run. And it was.

I now feel as if I can run a marathon again. Just not this year. I’ve given up my hopes of running and PRing California International Marathon for 2014. Instead, I’m shifting focus toward one of my favorite half marathons in November and then gearing up to go long next spring by signing up for the San Luis Obispo Marathon and then bricking my training to also run the San Francisco Marathon.

Lofty goals.

Three weeks ago, I didn’t have those lofty goals. I’m excited about how I feel now about running.

Something else happened to: I’m learning to be kind to myself about my body. I don’t fit into my pre-pregnancy clothes all that well right now. I might not still by the time I start teaching again in the fall either. That’s OK. My husband reassures me that I’m as sexy to him as I’ve ever been. I have clothes that fit, even if I did wear my maternity dress pants to an event at school this week.

I’m learning to accept my body for what it is now. I gave birth 11 weeks ago. It’s OK to not be where I was a year ago, before I got pregnant. I’m accepting myself a lot better right now.

All because of See Jane Run.

And a certain little person who, despite being completely over me by the time we left the race — too many snuggles and kisses from mommy — had a good time cheering me on with daddy. OK. Maybe I don’t know she had a good time. But I like to think so.

She seemed pretty happy in her stroller on the way back to the car.

Also, check out the amazing ambassador jacket that I received from See Jane Run! I’m going to wear it to every running event I go to this year, no doubt. I want to wear it all the time now, but it’s much too hot.

See Jane Run puts on a Seattle race on July 13 and athletes in the Pacific Northwest can still sign up, for 10 percent off, using my coupon code: SJAMB243. There is also a Wichita, Kansas race on Sept. 13.

June 18, 2014August 9, 2014

Counting down to my return to racing

My return to running hasn’t been easy, and not even for the obvious reasons.

First off, I’m going to count myself in the minority of new parents who get MORE sleep after welcoming a baby. I’ve been an insomniac since my first year of grad school. I rarely, if ever, sleep through the night. Instead I usually wake up four or five times, barely get back to sleep and then wake up again.

Right now? I put Cecilia down at 11:30 p.m. and sleep until she stirs at 5 a.m. I actually panic if she doesn’t wake me up (do mothers ever stop worrying about SIDS? Does everyone tap their child to see if he or she is still breathing?), so I wake up ready to grab her up and see what’s wrong with her.

But I sleep fairly soundly.

Instead I’m trying to work runs into my two-month old’s schedule. It means that I end up waiting for my husband to commute home before I can hop on the treadmill, if I’m lucky. It also means I’m missing runs when he gets off late because baby girl needs to maintain somewhat of a schedule.

As I type this I am trying to soothe her in her bouncy chair while I wait for my husband to get home so I can run. I never anticipated THIS before my problem. I always figured it would be something like being overtired, having no ambition, etc.

The time struggle is real.

So I’ve been fitting in two mile runs as often as I can. On Monday night I ran my best two miler since I was 30 weeks.

It brought some of my confidence back going into this weekend’s See Jane Run 5K in Alameda. I’ve run the half marathon portion of the race twice. This will be my first time running the 5K and my second year as an ambassador for the running store/race company.

Two good miles doesn’t necessarily translate into a solid 5K. But I’m hopeful I’ll feel OK. I’m hopeful that I’ll run strong, but likely not fast.

And I know I’ll be encouraged by a group of other women who have similar goals.

I’m still anxious. Even though I’ve done this race twice I’m nervous. I feel like it’s my first 5K all over again.

I haven’t raced since last fall. I, essentially, took two full seasons off of running and racing while pregnant. I don’t know how my body will react or what to expect from my legs. There’s a lot of uncertainty. (See how I’m psyching myself out already?)

I do know that the party at the end will, as always, be rocking. My Bay Area readers can still join in the festivities (including chocolate and champagne at the end!) and get 10 percent of registration by using my ambassador code: SJRAMB243

I also know that my little running ambassador is coming to cheer me on with my husband. I know she’s not old enough to understand what’s happening quite yet, but I hope this will be the first of many races she’ll be at the finish line for. I want her to see her mommy staying active. I want fitness to be a part of her life.

So while I’m nervous about getting to the start of my new role as a mother runner, I’m anxious to where the race will take baby girl and I.

May 28, 2014August 9, 2014

‘She was always the plan’ : Part II

I left the doctor’s office with instructions to basically sit on my butt for the weekend and monitor my blood pressure. I went home to the couch and called work to let my division office know I wouldn’t be returning. I emailed over the appropriate documents, including a new form for my maternity leave to start.

My original “off” date was April 18. I had intended to work until April 25 when I found out I was pregnant. I look back now and realize how laughable that was.

I spent the next few days moving between feeling excited that within the week my daughter would be in my arms and anxious that she was doing OK in my womb with all that was going on with my own health.

I thought I was living the longest three days of my life.

On Saturday, my husband and I went out to dinner. We called it our “last supper” without a child. We spent the night at home, watching television and relaxing. Come Sunday, I woke up and finally packed my hospital bags. I tried, as much as I could, to tidy up our house so I wouldn’t be coming home to dishes needing cleaning, laundry not done, etc.

At noon, I made “the call.”

My OB had instructed me to call and see if a room was available. I’m lucky my time was scheduled for 2 p.m. and was only pushed back to 3 p.m. By 2 p.m. we were on the road, since I had to stop at the bank prior to going to the hospital.

By 3 p.m. we were checking in with the Boppy pillow, numerous bags and Goldfish crackers in tow. Neither of us said it, but my husband and I wee both very nervous.

INDUCTION BEGINS

The nurses didn’t even ask who I was when I walked in because I was the only induction scheduled for that day. By 4:30 p.m. I was going through the motions of signing paperwork, getting IVs started, changing into a gown and becoming a “patient.”

At 5:30 p.m. the on-call OB came in and inserted a suppository to “soften my cervix.” Everything started slowing down after that. I had to wait as the medicine did its job.

I had blood pressure checks every 15 minutes.

Because of my swelling, every time the cuff closed, I was in excruciating pain.

That wasn’t a contraction. It was the blood pressure cuff tightening so hard around my arm it hurt like hell. It felt like I was being crushed from the inside out.

A friend stopped by and chatted. My husband and I called my mom and told her not to come that night, nothing was happening. The doctor said the Pitocin wouldn’t start until Monday morning.

By 10 p.m. I was dosing off. At 11:30 I woke up and did feel quite right.

I got up, grabbed my IV pole and took a waddle walk through labor and delivery. I figured I just needed to get out of bed for a bit. My husband was sleeping on the couch next to me. I didn’t wake him.

When I returned to my bed after a 15 minute excursion, the nurse came in to check my vitals. My blood pressure was skyrocketing.

I don’t know the exact number, mainly because my memories from the whole induction/labor period are fuzzy at best. Why? Immediately after that blood pressure reading happened, I was put on a magnesium drip. The magnesium was supposed to prevent seizures that could have happened because of my high blood pressure.

The magnesium, though, also make me loopy and eventually everything felt like an out-of-body experience.

On Sunday night, my blood pressure was so high I wasn’t allowed to leave bed at all. The nurse brought in a bedpan. The indignity of it all had begun. I barely slept. I didn’t eat because everyone was expecting labor to begin “soon.”

LABOR PROGRESSES

“Soon” is relative. Soon for one person can mean 10 minutes. For another it can mean tomorrow.

In my case, labor didn’t really “begin” until sometime late Monday night/early Tuesday morning.

The Pitocin drip was started on Monday morning. For awhile, nothing happened. Or at least it felt like nothing was happening. I felt some minor discomfort. The nurse began turning up the Pitocin every hour. Monday seemed to drag on as the nurse would come in, up the ante, leave and then come back and check the response.

I watched a lot of television before my mom arrived sometime before noon. By the evening hours, the Pitocin was being turned up every 30 minutes because it seemed like nothing was happening.

I should have known then that my body wasn’t having this process. I didn’t feel she was ready to come out yet. Apparently my body agreed.

It wasn’t until Monday night that I started feeling anything significant. And then it all got so weird and distant.

My nurse, who was amazing, kept asking me if I wanted the epidural yet. Let me make it clear: I wanted an epidural. I wasn’t going to try to be super woman by delivering my daughter, who my OB estimated would be nearly nine pounds if she wad born to term, without pain intervention. My pain threshold is non-existent.

Apparently I was having contractions, but wasn’t in that much pain so I kept saying no. I was told, though, that my body would relax and help baby girl get out if I had the epidural. At 3:30 a.m. I finally did. I held on to my husband as the doctor inserted the needle. I want to say it didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would, but I honestly don’t remember much about it.

Once that happened, I was again confined to the bed. And my nurse was right, that’s when things really picked up. I started getting turned on my side every half hour or so, from one side to the other, to help baby girl move down the birth canal. At 10 a.m. the on-call OB came in to check me. I can’t remember how dilated I was, but it wasn’t enough.

The Pitocin got turned up again. By noon, I started pushing.

Most hospitals allow women to “labor down” in order to prevent unnecessary pushing, but the ward was full that day. It was a Blood Moon, and that meant everyone was going into labor. The OB instructed my nurse to get me ready to push.

My husband was taking a shower when everything started. He walked out to me on my second push.

I would push, every way you can imagine, holding onto a bar, on my side, with one leg in the air, etc. My nurse tried 20 different positions to get baby girl to come down. More importantly, baby girl needed to turn face up.

NOTHING GOES AS PLANNED

By noon, I was dilated to 10 centimeters and ready to push.

I spent an hour pushing and feeling like I was getting nowhere. I was exhausted then. I hadn’t slept in more than 24 hours outside of a few minutes at a time.

There wasn’t enough running or yoga in the world that prepares a woman for nearly four hours of pushing. I had a break in between (where my usually reserved husband apparently went down and hit a vending machine when it took his money because he was anxious/annoyed/frustrated for me).

I can’t remember much of the second time we started pushing. I know, only because I was told, that I had extra injections of pain medicine inserted into my epidural. I know I was pushing for at least another hour. I know the on-call OB tried the suction twice (my daughter had the mark to prove it). I know an episiotomy was considered, but rejected because where most women have a small amount of muscle that needs to be cut, I apparently had four-times the normal.

The doctor advised my husband and mother that even with an episiotomy, she wasn’t sure the baby would come naturally. I don’t recall who mentioned a C-section.

I only remember looking up at my husband, who was tearing up at that point, and saying: “I’m sorry.”

I know now that he made the decision to go that route. I was exhausted. I felt like I was losing consciousness. Everything around me was lights and noises, but really just a blur.

I was wheeled in the operating room. I was prepped. Thomas was in an adjacent room getting suited up. But apparently, there was a miscommunication. Someone had said I had a spinal block. I only had an epidural.

So when they started to cut, I felt it. I was immediately put under for the rest of the C-section.

MISSED MOMENTS

When I was put under, it robbed me of the chance to hear her first cries and see her immediately after she was born. It also took away my husband’s chance to see her being born completely.

I’ve mentioned before how fortunate I am to be married to my husband. He reaffirmed it the day Cecilia was born.

A nurse made a comment about how I couldn’t do Kangaroo care for my daughter, because I was in horrible pain, begging for relief. Thomas didn’t think twice and started stripping his top half down to hold her close to him. He held her in his arms so tight in the recovery room. He brought her to me so I could kiss her and talk to her.

I’ve heard that a woman becomes a mother the moment she finds out she’s expecting, but for some men it’s the moment they see their child. My husband guards his emotions, but he cried when he saw Cecilia. He fell head over heels for her the moment he saw her.

The night she was born I was stuck in bed with a catheter, still on magnesium and slightly loopy. Thomas changed every diaper. He responded to every cry.

She loves her daddy so much. Even now, at six weeks old, she responds to his voice when he comes home from work. He moves her entire body toward him.

I struggle with how her birth happened. I’ll never get to see how my husband reacted when he saw our first born. Those moments cannot be replaced. Everyone said I should be thankful the baby is healthy, but more than that mattered to me. (Consequently, my freelance boss sent me this article today and it is dead on).

I’m thankful none of the worst-case scenario events happened. I didn’t have a seizure. I didn’t die in childbirth. Cecilia was born healthy, strong and beautiful.

But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. My body failed me in many ways.

I felt so much confusion those first 48 hours after she was born. I blamed myself (more so when she wouldn’t latch for breastfeeding and still won’t to this day, I’m pumping and supplementing because she’s a very hungry girl). I was upset. I allowed myself to be upset.

“This wasn’t what I planned,” I told my husband as I sat helplessly watching him change her for the third time that night.

He looked over at me with sympathy in his eyes. He knew I was hurting, physically and emotionally. He reassured me and told me that sometimes things happen that way.

Then he said the most comforting words I heard nearly the entire week I was in the hospital.

“You followed the plan,” he said. “She was always the plan.”

I’m pretty sure I fell in love with him all over again at that moment. Because he was right.

It doesn’t matter how she came into this world. She’s here. She’s amazing. And she was always the plan.

May 5, 2014May 18, 2014

Want to run with a great group of Janes?

babygirl

I must admit, I’ve been doing a great deal of staring at this little face for the past three weeks. It’s about all I’ve been doing because I’m not allowed to do much of anything else as I recover from my C-section.

My “all clear” date is likely going to be May 23 if I take everything easily.

That gives me one day less than a month to get ready for my first 5K in a very long time. And I’m so glad that it’s going to be the See Jane Run Bay Area race on June 22.

I’m ready to lace back up.

I really, really miss my running shoes (which now fit me since my swelling has gone down significantly since my daughter’s birth). I’m hoping my base is sustained a least a little. It shouldn’t be hard to hard for me to get back to 3.1 miles. I’m not aiming at a PR race now. I’m just hoping to finish after having major surgery only about eight weeks before.

That said, I’m hoping one of my readers CAN make this into either a personal best 5K or 13.1 with a little help from me.

I’m giving away a race entry (either 5K or half marathon) for the See Jane Run Bay Area race on June 22. The event includes the two events, plus champagne and chocolate at the finish.

You’ll be running with a group of amazing women, many of whom will be running their first 5K or half marathon, as the See Jane Run race is a popular destination for first timers.

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All you have to do to enter is leave a required comment telling me WHY you started running and what inspired you and like See Jane Run’s race series on Facebook. There are other options, via RaffleCopter, to earn more entries as well.

The contest runs through May 17.

***CONTEST HAS ENDED***

You know you want to. It’s a fun run and there’s champagne and chocolate at the end. Plus, there’s 1980s-theme aerobics before the race and a ton of “girl power.”

I’m still working on my birth story for Cecilia’s arrival. Her original expected due date was yesterday and it was a very emotional day for me, especially since she’ll be three weeks old tomorrow instead. I didn’t realize my heart would be so torn about all that happened. I’m happy and excited that she’s here and she’s perfect, but her labor and delivery – and the subsequent time in the hospital – were incredibly hard for me.

I’m finally starting to feel like “me” again. I’m incredibly excited to get back to running and fitness by the end of the month too.

March 1, 2014March 2, 2014

Finding the perfect combination at myOatmeal.com

Confession: My pregnancy heartburn is painful and debilitating. Some nights I can’t sleep. Others I toss and turn, even after taking a Pepcid. So I’ve spent a good deal of time since my first trimester looking for foods that would be delicious but wouldn’t agitate my painful acid reflux.

My go-to breakfast during pregnancy has been oatmeal. Lots and lots of oatmeal. I’ve been eating a lot of instant apples and cinnamon oatmeal for the past seven months. I wish I had time to make steel cut oats or something more fancy, but the truth is that I warm up my bowl of oatmeal when I get of my office at school and eat it as I prep for my 9 a.m. class.

So when I got an email from Sweat Pink a couple weeks ago about myOatmeal.com, a website that lets customers make their own organic healthy oatmeal combination that includes selecting the oats, adding flavors, adding fruits or/and nuts and sweetener, I jumped at a chance to try a different type of oatmeal than I’ve been eating for the past 30 weeks.

I immediately sent an email for a free code to score a bag, hoping I would be one of the lucky ones to respond soon enough.

I’m so glad that I was, particularly because since I hit the third trimester, my heartburn has become exponentially worse than it was. I was given a coupon code to purchase a medium-sized bag from the site, which is 2.25 pounds.

I set out to make my own concoction immediately.

First off, the site order site reminds me of a check list for ordering a salad or sandwich from one of my favorite local delis. Lots of check boxes, lots of choices.

Each choice leads to another set of choices, including a long list of options for added flavors. I was overwhelmed by the options.

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I’m ashamed to admit, then, that I didn’t get as wild and crazy as I would have liked. I was incredibly tempted by the Snickerdoodle and Strawberry Shortcake flavors. Then I saw the Vanilla Frosting. And Cookie Dough.

I chose two flavors: Cinnamon Roll and Apple Pie.

I know, so predictable. But I know what works for me, especially right now, so I figured I’d stay with choices I knew were safe. I opted to add some raisins (another selection screen), but no nuts and a little sweetener for my blend. I also added some dried apples.

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I opened the custom-made package I received immediately and the first thing I noticed was the smell of the oatmeal. None of my store-bought instant oatmeal smelled as delicious as the package from myOatmeal.com. I sniffed it for awhile before I actually made myself a bowl.

Once I did, I knew I’d made the right taste choice.

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I made myself a bowl for dinner one night (because sometimes that happens when you’re a pregnant woman) and sat down for ridiculously nutritious dinner. It was filling and tasty. My only complaint was that it wasn’t as sweet as the boxed oatmeal I’m used to, but I’ve had a need for sweet things for the past couple weeks.

My package has been split up into many bags this week so I could take them to work to eat before class, and I made some “protein balls” for quick snacks to satisfy my cravings between meals (see below).

The oatmeal is satisfying enough to get me through my class and to the noon hour, which is saying a lot right now since I tend to want to eat everything that is put in front of me.

The best part is that the Oatmeal is completely customizable and your blend can be sent to you once, every two weeks, every month, every two months or every three months. The smell alone is worth ordering, but the oatmeal selection is solid too.

Even better is that the oatmeal hasn’t caused me the horrible heartburn that’s been plaguing me for months now.

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You can make your own blend at myOatmeal.com by clicking the “Build Your Blend” button in the navigation bar. Just be warned: There are a ton of flavors to choose from so you may need some time to seriously consider the array of delicious choices.

And it’s healthy.

[yumprint-recipe id=’1′]Disclaimer: I was provided a code from my affiliation as a Sweat Pink Ambassador to review myOatmeal.com, but the opinions are my own.

February 28, 2014

The ‘after’ plan

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This was last year, after my course best at See Jane Run in Alameda. It was a ridiculously hot day to race, but one that was made much better by champagne and a nice medal, with shoe laces attached, at the end.

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I’m looking at a completely different, incredibly exciting reality now. Looking down at, I should say. This photo is from my prenatal massage, thanks to a gift card from my mom, earlier this week. At nearly 31 weeks, I’m waking up multiple times during the night and feeling rather uncomfortable in everything I do.

I’m not going to talk about weight gain, outside of saying that I’m carrying baby girl mostly in the front. My shirts would fit if I didn’t have a big baby bump in the way. My thighs are a little thicker, but I’m still wearing maternity jeans from the second trimester. Only now am I moving into larger shirts, just because the bump is growing more and more each week.

But overall, I’m not feeling a great urge to lose weight, yet. Maybe in the next nine weeks that will change.

I do, however, have a great want to get back to fitness. And running. And being able to actually do asanas at yoga without having to move my legs out to avoid my belly.

That’s why I’m incredibly grateful to have been chosen, for a second year, as an ambassador for See Jane Run. The Oakland-based running store hosts its San Francisco Bay Area run in Alameda on June 22 this year.

Baby girl should be about two months old by then. Last year I ran 13.1 miles.

seejanerun This year, I’m planning on doing the 5K. My first run “back” and my first 5K in a very long time. I’m considering it a “baby” step for myself. I know the route, I know the parking situation. I know nearly everything about the location. It will be comfortable and fun, even if I am uncomfortable doing it (who knows what shape I’ll be in then).

I’d like to think I’ll be running more than a 5K by then.

Part of my plan is to be able to run twice that far to be on track to run the 2nd Half Marathon of the San Francisco Marathon on July 29.

Two races signed up for already.

Today, though, I got an email about the bigger picture for 2014. Let me make it clear: Baby girl’s arrival is going to be the biggest event of my year. My husband would agree.

But I want something else too: Another chance to earn a PR at California International Marathon in December.

Sign ups begin March 1. I’ll likely deliberate it for awhile before actually signing up, but I really, really want to run 26.2 again this year. I don’t know if that is even a feasible goal, but I’m hoping that it can and will happen.

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I’d like to be back in Sacramento with my husband and baby girl taking on this year’s challenge.

To get there? Those baby steps I mentioned before. All starting with See Jane Run in June. It’s perfect that I’ll be surrounded by so many inspirational women my first race post birth. I can’t think of a better way to introduce baby girl to racing than at an event like See Jane Run.

The good news is that I have a 10-percent off coupon code for See Jane Run Alameda’s 5K and Half Marathon for my blog readers so that you can join the party to. Interested in signing? Use SJRAMB243 to secure the discount. Even better, the code is ALSO good for online or in-store purchases from See Jane Run and its website.

Plus, some of the Bay Area See Jane Run stores will be hosting kick off events on March 1 to celebrate the official start of race season and promotion of the awesome events.

The kickoff events begin at 8 a.m. at See Jane Run’s San Francisco, Oakland and Danville stores. Representatives from Moving Comfort, Altra Running and 2XU will be on site at each store (for more details about which presentation will happen at which store, click here). Each kickoff starts with a run, also walker friendly, and includes a clinic about half marathon and 5K training.

It’s time to get serious about training, or in my case start planning for the next step of training in my post-baby come back to running.

February 15, 2014

When anxiety rears its ugly head

Confession: Running, for me, has become more than just a way to stay fit. It’s also away to keep anxiety at bay. A couple years ago, I didn’t deal with it as much. Today? It has a tendency to rear its ugly head at the worst possible times.

Throughout my pregnancy, I’ve been trying to run two-milers where and when I could. I had a great maternity support belt and near the end of my second trimester, I felt really strong when I ran.

That was until a couple weeks ago when I suddenly started getting sharp pains in my abdomen where baby girl is currently taking up residence. I thought, maybe, she was starting to kick up in my ribs. I stopped running and took a shower, then sat down on the couch for awhile.

The pain didn’t let up. I ended up calling the advice nurse. I’ve also had some foot swelling, which means my running shoes aren’t fitting me as well, and other “symptoms” during the week. My husband and I were kind of freaking out. Turns out it was likely just Braxton Hicks contractions, which are painful and not really threatening.

I was told to keep my feet elevated. Drink a lot of fluids, as I normally do. And maybe ton it down on the workouts.

The downside is that the activity has been really helpful in keeping my weight in a “good place.”

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That’s my bump at 27 weeks. I’ll be 29 weeks tomorrow. I’m getting bigger and bigger each day. My center of gravity is WAY OFF what it typically is when I run marathons.

I’m also noting some atrophy of my leg muscles, which is making me a little sad. I’m gained about 15 pounds so far. The numbers keep inching up on the scale, closer to the 200 mark that I fought so hard to come down from four years ago. But this is a different kind of gain, obviously. I know that she’s gaining if I am.

The bottom line of the pain? My pregnant running is likely over. I stopped yoga for a couple weeks too, just to be safe.

The problem, though, is that the anxiety is starting to creep up again. In horrible ways.

Someone asked me the other day if I was “worried” about anything leading up to baby girl’s arrival.

I’M WORRIED ABOUT EVERYTHING.

The first trimester all I thought about was the risk of miscarriage. After regular bleeding the first eight weeks it was on my mind all the time. My husband, the optimist, kept telling me not to worry. But I had more ultrasounds in those early weeks than I want to admit. I kept going back to my OB just to make sure everything was going well. My blood pressure was high when I went in for those first appointments because my anxiety was through the roof. I just wanted to get in and make sure baby had a heartbeat.

The second trimester all I thought about was viability. Unsolicited advice often leads to worries, particularly when people who are trying to be helpful (I think), start talking about pre-term labor and preemie babies. I started to think to myself “I just have to make it to 26 weeks,” which is when baby’s chance of survival outside the womb increases dramatically. Every week after just adds to her chances.

I can’t say it’s not without cause that I’m worried. My doctor has noted my past diabetes diagnosis and those high blood pressure readings as reasons to worry. I’ve been told I likely will be induced if I don’t go into labor by my May 4 due date. In fact, baby may come early if my OB becomes worried about her at all. But ALL of those things just adds to my anxiety.

The third trimester all I think about is stillbirth. Statistics put the number of stillbirth at 1/160. When I spend time on my Baby Center birth board, though, I’m confronted with the reality more and more. It’s scary. It’s more than scary, it’s petrifying. My doctor and my husband told me to stop reading forums. I should know that myself after moderating forum comments for more than a year as an online editor.

If I distract myself during the day, I don’t think about it as much. But every now and then, if I don’t feel her wiggling around. Everyone keeps telling me that as much as I worry before she is born, I will worry more once she is here. I believe it.

Running kept all those ugly thoughts away. Now I’m relying on yoga to calm me. Baby girl isn’t quite sure she likes the yoga anymore either though. She’s been kicking up a storm when we do our last meditation exercise. And I’ve had to run to the bathroom more than I’d like. I’m thankful the yoga instructor has been very supportive of teaching a pregnant student.

On that note, we’re very much preparing for her to arrive. Her room is done, one of the things I made sure I did before I went back to school. Last weekend, my husband treated me to an early Valentine’s Day gift and we splurged on a 3D/4D ultrasound in a nearby city.

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We found out that she really, really looks like him. I love the image above because she looks exactly like him when he’s sleeping. He has a closely-shaved haircut and that same nose. I was excited to see her face. We also confirmed, definitely that she is a girl. I’d been worried since our anatomy ultrasound.

It’s good she’s a girl because her name is already up above her crib.

My baby shower date is set. My best friend Jennie and my sister are throwing it. I’m so thankful for that.

And my husband is getting nervous/excited. He bought her some baby leggings a couple weeks ago.

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The green is the color of my glider rocking chair. Her room is a mixture of sage green, chocolate brown and pink accents. Nothing over the top girly.

I’m excited that I’m “almost there,” but I’m also truly missing running and it’s ability to keep the bad thoughts at bay. I am starting to put together a plan for after she comes. Today I found out that I will be a See Jane Run Ambassador into the 2014-15 year. So baby’s first race will be the 5K in Alameda on June 22. I’m excited about the journey to get to the start.

December 31, 2013December 31, 2013

Close to the heart

I’ve started and stopped this post so many times in my head that I decided I had to finish it before 2013 was over. So today, on the last possible day I could, I decided it needed to come out.

A year ago exactly, I was 24 hours from an emergency room visit that led to another one, seven days later, where my gallbladder was removed during emergency surgery.

I remember looking down at the holes on my stomach realizing that the scars would never go away. More emotional wounds would open up in the following days, but my husband and I had decided, in my hospital room on Jan. 8, that I would not be returning to my job at the newspaper I once loved so deeply I could only imagine being dragged out dead.

My heart was broken because I knew no other way.

My wounds, in those early days of 2013, were both physical and emotional. My nerves were ravaged. My body was spent.

But those very trying early days of 2013 were also filled with an overabundance of love: From my husband, who promised me I’d find my path and things to “keep me busy.” From my close friends who helped me through and offered guidance. From my students, who showed me there was more to journalism than a city newspaper with declining circulation and staff numbers. From a former colleague who, without seeing any of my work, jumped on a chance to hire me as a freelancer.

Love surrounded me.

That love healed me in ways I will never, ever be able to explain.

And that love led me to her:

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When I found out I was pregnant in August, I thought I would blog every single milestone of it on here. I worried about this blog becoming less workout related, more mommy-ish.

I would start posts over and over again, but something kept stopping me: a new-found need to keep private matters very close to my heart, between my husband and I.

I’m not ending this blog by any means.

In fact, I have posts about running during pregnancy written (of note, there hasn’t been a lot of running because baby doesn’t seem to enjoy it and likes to remind me of that) and yoga (that has been essential in recent weeks). I’m yearning for my 10-milers, while only being able to squeak out two at a time right now on the treadmill.

I surprised myself last week when I register for the 2nd Half Marathon of the San Francisco Marathon for 2014. My due date is May 3. The race is July 29. I’m hedging my bets on a hope that I’ll have a natural delivery and be able to get back to running quickly, for my self and my sanity. I’ve been missing my mid-length runs of six to eight miles especially.

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But my center of gravity has recently shifted enough to cause me issues. My saving grace has been my Gabrialla Elastic Maternity Belt. I bought one on recommendation from another blogger. I can’t recommend it enough.

I’m getting bigger and bigger, obviously, as I get closer to my due date. My first trimester was rough. I slept a lot. I’ve never been more thankful for a forgiving freelance schedule and part-time teaching position. I was sleeping 12+ hours a day at one point. I fell asleep nearly everywhere I sat down. I also had to stop running as a precaution, for awhile, because of bleeding. (Sorry for the TMI, but sometimes this sort of thing is linked to running. My OB told me it was likely not the running. It happens to a lot of women.)

As I worked through all this, I realized that I didn’t want to share, let alone overshare, things about my life. Call it innate need to keep my private life private, but I just felt like not blogging every element of my life was the most appropriate action.

My husband has always been a more private person than me. Part of the reason I used my maiden name professionally for so long is because I wanted him to be able to keep that privacy. Scary things happen to journalists. My grandmother used to get phone calls for me because she was the only person in the phone book listed with the same last name.

I didn’t want that happening at home.

So when my husband asked me not to blog specific things, I listened and understood.

At 20 weeks, though, we found out that baby is a girl. Or at least according to our ultrasound tech, who said: “I wouldn’t tell you if I wasn’t sure.” I’m still having moments where I think we should maybe have that checked again. That’s my anxiety peaking up …

In any case, at 22 weeks I’m feeling as good as someone who is watching all her running clothes slowly shrink up can. It’s kind of been funny to figure out which of my workout clothes still fit me on any given day. As much crap as Lululemon has received recently for comments made by the founder, my Lululemon clothes are stretching nicely over my belly.

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A different in belly shots, though you can’t really see much since both photos are shot at different lengths from the mirror. On the right, I’m wearing my 2011 California International Marathon shirt and a Lululemon Run: Swiftly shirt in my regular size 10.

I’m still very grateful for long tank tops that have extended the life of my regular clothes, though by the time I go back to teaching in late January I’m pretty sure it will be ALL maternity clothes for the next few months.

So there’s been a lot happening in my life over the past couple months.

I’m finally getting to a point where I’m ready to share my triumphs, fears, successes and apprehensions again. But after sharing so much in late 2012 and early 2013, I really wanted this first part of my pregnancy to be private and special to my husband and I.

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I can’t promise a quick return or regular posts again, particularly because I still very much want this blog to be health and fitness centered. But I am letting myself add in the stuff about pregnancy and our baby girl on the way.

As can be imagined, I’m extremely excited for 2014 to begin. I’m excited about some potential (as in I’m crossing my fingers tightly) career happenings on the way later in the year, the amazing work I’m doing now (so many website builds, so little time) and, of course, our little one coming.

I’m also looking forward to eventually getting back to running more frequently. One step at a time. Always moving forward. Because now I know another way.