My first run was 20 minutes, and I went about a mile and a half (June in the Midwest is unforgiving with the heat).
With my second, my husband let slip to the midwife what I had done after the previous pregnancy, and she told me under NO uncertain terms am I to run prior to three weeks after the birth (something about hormones in the body or whatever). So I waited three weeks.
My second was a December baby, and waiting didn't seem that difficult. I thought it would be easy to follow the same guidelines this time around.
Nope.
Having a May baby means I mentally/emotionally/spiritually/anythingly cannot wait three weeks.
Thirteen days out? I'll just do yoga. That's no big deal, right? And it'll be good for working out the kinks that settled in during pregnancy and delivery. It's totally fine that it's P90X2 yoga, right?
Two weeks out. Yoga was nice, but I think I can do more. What P90X2 workout falls on Thursdays?
Fifteen days out. Since I did Yoga on Wednesday instead of Friday, I'll switch the days, but that would make today a rest day...
"I think I'm going to go running."
My husband: "Will you be less grumpy if you do?"
Bless him.
It was overcast. The air was a little thick from the previous night's rain, with a hint of a cool breeze. It was perfect and beautiful. My ipod was loaded with new songs, and I was dance-running on the rural roads near my house. The out and back was four miles, and I promised my husband I'd turn around when my body said I needed to quit. My brain was too elated with the run that I simply. Could. Not. Stop.
My pelvis and my brain were at odds with one another.
When I hit the stop sign that indicated I needed to turn around, my hip flexors seemed tight enough to be engraved. The two miles back home seemed long and difficult-- a far cry from the marathon training I was in the midst of when I got my positive pregnancy test.
I looked down at my ipod. Flipped it to a new song.
It's good to be (on my way) back.
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