Workouts:
Wednesday - nothing.
Why? Had a breakfast meeting with my boss, came home to a breast-feeding frenzied baby, followed immediately up with a visit from my mom. By the time it was all said and done, it was late, my husband wasn't feeling well, and I was pretty much on baby patrol. It was one of those days that I know I will have a lot of in the future (the ones where the baby takes over and it's easy to make excuses), and I just need to plan better (like staying awake after the 5am feeding and going to the gym, instead of getting another hour of sleep. This continues to be my daily goal, but I have yet to acheive it).
Thursday
Total cardio - 55 minutes
44:45 min run for 4 miles (not sure why this one was a touch slower than previously).
10 min WU/CD
Today (Friday)
Nothing - had an early work meeting on the far south side of Chicago, a sick husband and a child that only slept 2 hours. ALL NIGHT. And because of sick husband and the need to get out of our germ infested house, I spent the rest of the day at my mom's house. Got home around 530pm, but (not surprisingly) with a creeping illness that I suspect has something to do with my husband's. And because of said sick husband, there was no one to take care of the wee one so that I could squeeze in a morning workout - even if I had the energy.
Tomorrow:
I am planning a 5 miler. Since I am going to be on my own for the next week (possibly four) and getting in my runs will require extreme strategizing, I am taking FULL advantage of some free time to get it done tomorrow.
Despite the two off days, I still feel okay about the fact that at least I didn't juts lay around the house on the couch - I managed to get out and do stuff. Moreover, my eating has been very much under control (slips are minor and infrequent). So not all was lost...
I know this post sucks - reflects my current energy level. Perhaps I'll have some more wit tomorrow...
Showing posts with label running. Show all posts
Showing posts with label running. Show all posts
Friday, January 27, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
And For Today's Update...
This seriously must be some sort of blogging record for me.
Today's Workout:
Total cardio: 62:30
Run: 44:30 for 4 miles, 3 min WU, 5 min CD
Elliptical: 10 min
Today I decided that my new goal is to run off my inner thighs. I HATE the way they rub together now, not to mention the lunch buffet they make out of my running shorts. It's like my shorts are on the losing end of a Hunger Hungry Hippo game. Nom, nom, nom.
At some point, likely Thursday, I am going to start doing more strength training in addition to the cardio. But after trying to integrate into those intial workouts with dreadfully painful results, I decided to lay off until my legs were a little most acclimated - and now I think it's time.
I still had a mindful of madness today, but it was a bit better. And wonders of wonders - so was the run. It definately makes me hopeful, as each run seems to be bring me back to normal. In addition, starting next week, I would like to reintroduce my legs to speedwork, and start working off some of those mile times.
And fitness aside, I have a totally random thought I want to share:
You know the downside of having an "easy" baby? I was SOOOOOOO looking forward to using a screaming inconsolable baby as payback for the regular raging LOUD 2AM parties my downstairs college student neighbors like to throw (they were EPIC during my pregnancy). Alas, it was not meant to be, as my child is far too sweet to use for such glorious revenge. Perhaps I will have to "accidently" drop a doody diaper on their back steps when I take out the garbage next time.
Oh, and speaking of the little porkchop:
Handsome little man:
Guess who got a swing (read: Baby Ambian)?
Why hello there...
Today's Workout:
Total cardio: 62:30
Run: 44:30 for 4 miles, 3 min WU, 5 min CD
Elliptical: 10 min
Today I decided that my new goal is to run off my inner thighs. I HATE the way they rub together now, not to mention the lunch buffet they make out of my running shorts. It's like my shorts are on the losing end of a Hunger Hungry Hippo game. Nom, nom, nom.
At some point, likely Thursday, I am going to start doing more strength training in addition to the cardio. But after trying to integrate into those intial workouts with dreadfully painful results, I decided to lay off until my legs were a little most acclimated - and now I think it's time.
I still had a mindful of madness today, but it was a bit better. And wonders of wonders - so was the run. It definately makes me hopeful, as each run seems to be bring me back to normal. In addition, starting next week, I would like to reintroduce my legs to speedwork, and start working off some of those mile times.
And fitness aside, I have a totally random thought I want to share:
You know the downside of having an "easy" baby? I was SOOOOOOO looking forward to using a screaming inconsolable baby as payback for the regular raging LOUD 2AM parties my downstairs college student neighbors like to throw (they were EPIC during my pregnancy). Alas, it was not meant to be, as my child is far too sweet to use for such glorious revenge. Perhaps I will have to "accidently" drop a doody diaper on their back steps when I take out the garbage next time.
Oh, and speaking of the little porkchop:
Handsome little man:
Guess who got a swing (read: Baby Ambian)?
Why hello there...
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Keeping My Word
Today's Workout:
Total Cardio - 73 minutes
30 min - Bike (on trainer - first since March!)
43 min - Treadmill (Run 33 minutes for 3 miles, walk 10 min warm-up/cool down)
Weight:
TBD tomorrow
Thoughts:
Finally, a workout that I didn't want to cry about.
Granted, the trainer ride was primarily an easy spin (yeah, not hitting the speed and hill intervals just yet - but I still worked up a decent sweat), and the run is still minutes/mile off my pre-pregnancy time, but I don't care. I got 3 in, and I know I won't be as sore tomorrow as I was after last week's 3. So, all-in-all, progress.
But dang, this is a far longer road that I was anticipating. But I'm not getting down on that because I know my body is being used for so many things right now (like keeping my kid alive) that it's going to take a while for it get used to giving even more. It's just a huge wake-up call.
So on that short note, I'm out.
Total Cardio - 73 minutes
30 min - Bike (on trainer - first since March!)
43 min - Treadmill (Run 33 minutes for 3 miles, walk 10 min warm-up/cool down)
Weight:
TBD tomorrow
Thoughts:
Finally, a workout that I didn't want to cry about.
Granted, the trainer ride was primarily an easy spin (yeah, not hitting the speed and hill intervals just yet - but I still worked up a decent sweat), and the run is still minutes/mile off my pre-pregnancy time, but I don't care. I got 3 in, and I know I won't be as sore tomorrow as I was after last week's 3. So, all-in-all, progress.
But dang, this is a far longer road that I was anticipating. But I'm not getting down on that because I know my body is being used for so many things right now (like keeping my kid alive) that it's going to take a while for it get used to giving even more. It's just a huge wake-up call.
So on that short note, I'm out.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Plugging Away
Accountability.
I can’t escape it.
It’s on blogs. It’s on status updates. It’s all around.
Mostly, I’ve seen it in regards to people’s New Year’s resolutions or the start of many a-training season and race goals. People coming clean about weight/eating issues, people calling themselves out when they half-ass workouts.
So as I embark on my own personal goals post-pregnancy, I have decided to hold my own self accountable - come clean about my own shortcomings or shame-based behaviors.
First, in regards to my fitness. I mentioned that I signed up for a half-marathon in May. Early May. So that means I need to be flushing all my excuses down the shame-toilet and hitting the gym daily. Right now, this does not happen. Why? Because after multiple all-night feedings, my mornings usually consist of handing the offspring to my husband, and either:
A) Going back to bed for a few extra hours or
B) Sitting on the couch, inhaling hot coffee, and staring blankly into the television (which sadly is usually on Kelly Ripa because I am too damn tired to change it after the early morning news ended prior to it) while I wait for said offspring to wake from his all-too-brief nap looking for his milkies.
The day then unfolds with a series of feedings, diaper changes, and quality time. The next thing I know, it’s 10pm, and I’ve managed to make excuses all day to avoid the gym.
I made it to the gym three times last week, and even got in a 3-mile run Sunday (which I then paid for with excrutiating muscle soreness for the next two days, courtosy of my 3-month hiatus from anything more physical than climbing the stairs to my 2-floor apartment, and that didn’t even happen everday. Shit, when I see it on paper, it hits me how lazy I got in those final months, bedrest or not.)
So I went back twice this week, and got in a 60-minute workout both times, which included 30 minutes on the elliptical and a 2-mile run with a warm-up and cool down. And it sucked the whole time. Both times.
No, seriously. Like, I finally felt a warm kinship to the contestants on the Biggest Loser during their first few weeks. Quite a change from where I was 10 months ago, when you would have found me sitting on my couch, calling them cry babies, and screaming at them for not respecting their amazing opportunity.
But I’ll go back. Again. And again. And then at some point, it won’t actually suck. As much.
So accountability goal #1 – post every workout, which includes doing something physical everyday – even if it means walking around the dang block. This way, I am forced to actually leave the house, move my body, and continue getting my fitness back so that I can actually tolerate myself. Oh, and also finish the race.
Next up – weight. Now, while I can’t actually bring myself to post the number of my current – ahem – situation, I will post the amount needed to lose, and the amount lost. So, at my doctor’s appointment Monday, I weighed in at a heafty…number. The number was 27 pounds over my normal weight (3 down from the initial 30, so some early progress?) So once a week, I will check in with my progress and post the amount lost that week – kind of like a poor man’s version of a Weight Watchers meeting. But without Jennifer Hudson singing empowering songs in the background as my own personal soundtrack.
And in order to do this, I will need to post more – even it’s just a numbers update, sans (questionably) witty commentary. Once daily - a workout post. Once weekly - a weight update.
Now that I’ve put that out there, I need to follow through. And this will be hard because I go back to work in a week, so I'll be fullt-ime mom and full-time psychologist again. But I want to do this for at least the next month, because I figure that will be enough time to actually get me back on track to the point I actually like being healthy again. Because right now, the only thing I really like is laying on the couch, streaming movies from Netflix, eating cheese puffs and cake frosting from a plastic jar while hanging with my kid and making funny faces to get him to smile (though not necessarily in that order – but wouldn’t it be shameful if I liked cheese puffs and cake frosting more than my kid? Shit, I’d need more than blog accountability – I’d need an intervention from child protective services. And a nutritionist).
And naturally I can’t end a post without a picture (or ten) of my offspring. Yeah, I’ve become THAT mom.
My husband calls this SuperBaby. That's his cape.
Morning after a long night. In my robe that I almost never take off. It's covered in spit-up but I don't care. Yeah, I've reached that point in new motherhood where I just don't give a shit anymore. Unless there is literally diareha on it (mine or his), I'll wear it as long as it's conducive to warmth and breastfeeding.
Daddy time.
I can’t escape it.
It’s on blogs. It’s on status updates. It’s all around.
Mostly, I’ve seen it in regards to people’s New Year’s resolutions or the start of many a-training season and race goals. People coming clean about weight/eating issues, people calling themselves out when they half-ass workouts.
So as I embark on my own personal goals post-pregnancy, I have decided to hold my own self accountable - come clean about my own shortcomings or shame-based behaviors.
First, in regards to my fitness. I mentioned that I signed up for a half-marathon in May. Early May. So that means I need to be flushing all my excuses down the shame-toilet and hitting the gym daily. Right now, this does not happen. Why? Because after multiple all-night feedings, my mornings usually consist of handing the offspring to my husband, and either:
A) Going back to bed for a few extra hours or
B) Sitting on the couch, inhaling hot coffee, and staring blankly into the television (which sadly is usually on Kelly Ripa because I am too damn tired to change it after the early morning news ended prior to it) while I wait for said offspring to wake from his all-too-brief nap looking for his milkies.
The day then unfolds with a series of feedings, diaper changes, and quality time. The next thing I know, it’s 10pm, and I’ve managed to make excuses all day to avoid the gym.
I made it to the gym three times last week, and even got in a 3-mile run Sunday (which I then paid for with excrutiating muscle soreness for the next two days, courtosy of my 3-month hiatus from anything more physical than climbing the stairs to my 2-floor apartment, and that didn’t even happen everday. Shit, when I see it on paper, it hits me how lazy I got in those final months, bedrest or not.)
So I went back twice this week, and got in a 60-minute workout both times, which included 30 minutes on the elliptical and a 2-mile run with a warm-up and cool down. And it sucked the whole time. Both times.
No, seriously. Like, I finally felt a warm kinship to the contestants on the Biggest Loser during their first few weeks. Quite a change from where I was 10 months ago, when you would have found me sitting on my couch, calling them cry babies, and screaming at them for not respecting their amazing opportunity.
But I’ll go back. Again. And again. And then at some point, it won’t actually suck. As much.
So accountability goal #1 – post every workout, which includes doing something physical everyday – even if it means walking around the dang block. This way, I am forced to actually leave the house, move my body, and continue getting my fitness back so that I can actually tolerate myself. Oh, and also finish the race.
Next up – weight. Now, while I can’t actually bring myself to post the number of my current – ahem – situation, I will post the amount needed to lose, and the amount lost. So, at my doctor’s appointment Monday, I weighed in at a heafty…number. The number was 27 pounds over my normal weight (3 down from the initial 30, so some early progress?) So once a week, I will check in with my progress and post the amount lost that week – kind of like a poor man’s version of a Weight Watchers meeting. But without Jennifer Hudson singing empowering songs in the background as my own personal soundtrack.
And in order to do this, I will need to post more – even it’s just a numbers update, sans (questionably) witty commentary. Once daily - a workout post. Once weekly - a weight update.
Now that I’ve put that out there, I need to follow through. And this will be hard because I go back to work in a week, so I'll be fullt-ime mom and full-time psychologist again. But I want to do this for at least the next month, because I figure that will be enough time to actually get me back on track to the point I actually like being healthy again. Because right now, the only thing I really like is laying on the couch, streaming movies from Netflix, eating cheese puffs and cake frosting from a plastic jar while hanging with my kid and making funny faces to get him to smile (though not necessarily in that order – but wouldn’t it be shameful if I liked cheese puffs and cake frosting more than my kid? Shit, I’d need more than blog accountability – I’d need an intervention from child protective services. And a nutritionist).
And naturally I can’t end a post without a picture (or ten) of my offspring. Yeah, I’ve become THAT mom.
My husband calls this SuperBaby. That's his cape.
Morning after a long night. In my robe that I almost never take off. It's covered in spit-up but I don't care. Yeah, I've reached that point in new motherhood where I just don't give a shit anymore. Unless there is literally diareha on it (mine or his), I'll wear it as long as it's conducive to warmth and breastfeeding. 
Daddy time.And now, here's the picture I promised in the last post. The first is my son at about three weeks.
And this is me at about six months.
So now that we've clearly confirmed who the mother is, I'll get back to you when we find the dad.
And this is me at about six months.
So now that we've clearly confirmed who the mother is, I'll get back to you when we find the dad.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
The Arrival
Turns out, if you wait long enough, the baby actually DOES come out.
Today is the three-week anniversary of my baby boy's birth, so there is a lot of catching up to do. Surely, I could have posted sooner, but I have been trying to take everyone's age-old advice of "when the baby sleeps, you sleep" so my days are pretty much feed the baby, clean poop, sleep. and when I am awake and functioning, I have tried to either leave the house (me and the baby have had two solo trips so far!), read work emails, or just chill with the baby in his few waking hours.
So what follows is basically how the little man came into our world. Be warned, in true PP form, it's pretty much as raw as it gets - I've never really been one to hold back, so why start now?
The action, I guess, started the day after the last post - Friday. That morning, after some concern, my doctor thought my water broke, so I was sent the hospital. Excited with bags packed, my husband and I set off, thinking this was out last day as non-parents.
Not so much - turns out the water in my jeans was likely due to poor bladder control - though I begged to differ, as I am accused of a lot of things, but pants-peeing is not one of them (at least not since the second grade).
Home we went.
Fast forward to Monday night - after a quick late afternoon nap, I woke to get ready for my doctor's appointment, which was at 6pm. As I put my leggings on, something splashed to the ground - was it my water? Sure looked like it, but after four times of being told I was in some form of labor and no baby actually came, I didn't want to get my hopes up. Moreover, the splash was neither the large "gush" or the constant trickle.
We got to the doctor's office, told them went happened, and the three tests they do to confirm water breakage were...inconclusive. Doctor did an ultrasound and determined that my amniotic fluid was again really low - down 4 cm in a week - so that was enough for her to order an inducement - even if my water didn't break, they would induce me because my fluid was too low at that point.
Off we went again to the hospital, where they subsequently confirmed my water DID break and my contractions were every 2-3 minutes (and obviously not painful by that point because I didn't know they were happening - but that would change).
Calls were made, and enter the excited family....
Today is the three-week anniversary of my baby boy's birth, so there is a lot of catching up to do. Surely, I could have posted sooner, but I have been trying to take everyone's age-old advice of "when the baby sleeps, you sleep" so my days are pretty much feed the baby, clean poop, sleep. and when I am awake and functioning, I have tried to either leave the house (me and the baby have had two solo trips so far!), read work emails, or just chill with the baby in his few waking hours.
So what follows is basically how the little man came into our world. Be warned, in true PP form, it's pretty much as raw as it gets - I've never really been one to hold back, so why start now?
The action, I guess, started the day after the last post - Friday. That morning, after some concern, my doctor thought my water broke, so I was sent the hospital. Excited with bags packed, my husband and I set off, thinking this was out last day as non-parents.
Not so much - turns out the water in my jeans was likely due to poor bladder control - though I begged to differ, as I am accused of a lot of things, but pants-peeing is not one of them (at least not since the second grade).
Home we went.
Fast forward to Monday night - after a quick late afternoon nap, I woke to get ready for my doctor's appointment, which was at 6pm. As I put my leggings on, something splashed to the ground - was it my water? Sure looked like it, but after four times of being told I was in some form of labor and no baby actually came, I didn't want to get my hopes up. Moreover, the splash was neither the large "gush" or the constant trickle.
We got to the doctor's office, told them went happened, and the three tests they do to confirm water breakage were...inconclusive. Doctor did an ultrasound and determined that my amniotic fluid was again really low - down 4 cm in a week - so that was enough for her to order an inducement - even if my water didn't break, they would induce me because my fluid was too low at that point.
Off we went again to the hospital, where they subsequently confirmed my water DID break and my contractions were every 2-3 minutes (and obviously not painful by that point because I didn't know they were happening - but that would change).
Calls were made, and enter the excited family....
The rest went down like this:
They put me on meds to speed up contractions at 1030pm. Holy pain. Once they kicked in, I tried to beat it for as long as possible before asking for the pain meds at 230am. But to be fair, I also asked for the pain meds because they said they couldn't check my dilation until I has the epi. Epi in 230am, and that was last time I felt any sort of pain. AT ALL.
I actually slept for a few hours. The next thing I knew, the doctor came in at 7am, told me I was 8 cm dilated, and again at 8am, and told me I was fully dilated, and ready to start pushing. I was like, "Baby coming! Baby coming!"
Not so fast.
I proceeded to push for 3 1/2 hours. Yeah, you read that correctly. THREE AND A HALF HOURS. To put that in perspective, my sister's friend has a baby a few days ago and pushed for 14 minutes. Granted, pushing times vary dramatically, but 3 1/2 hours is tough. It doesn't hurt, but it is exhausting - so much so that by the end, I was taking quick naps between contractions (about 90 seconds in between each push session).
After that marathon stretch, it was determined that the baby was facing up - after they shifted him to face down, it was determined that my pelvis was too small to get him through. Our options? C-section or forceps.
This is where it got emotional - not in the "why me? my body failed me!" type way, but rather in the "we got so far, and still couldn't get him out" kind of way. It was here that I started to sob, with no one able to console me.
No way was I having my child yanked out using salad tongs, so C-section it was. Within minutes I was in the OR, which was so cold I was convulsing with shivers and sobbing while they set up, numbed me and cut me open. I felt nothing but my body being kind of yanked around (not painful, more like I could tell I was being tugged). The room was so cold my hands wouldn't stay still, and my sobbing made me a complete mess. And then, about 30 minutes after it all started, at 130pm on 12.13.2011, the doctor proclaimed:
"It's a BOY!"
My son, 7 pounds, 8 ounces, and 20 inches long.
Footprints
First family photo
So let me pause here and talk about this moment.
The proclamation was followed immediately by a large wailing cry from MY SON. I heard my husband - who sat to my left- gasp and cry, "It's a boy!" I felt an almost indescribable mix of relief (that it was over), shock (that it was a boy, because I spent 10 months convinced it was a girl), disbelief (ohmygosh I have a kid), and exhaustion. And cold. I was just so cold. I know it probably sounds weird that "joy" wasn't an immediate reaction, but in that moment, given everything that happened - and the fact that I didn't even see my child for several minutes, and didn't hold him for the first five-ish hours, it's not that unusual that there were some initial attachment issues.
Now,that's not to say I didn't feel any positive feelings - I did, but in a kind of what-just-happened-on-my-gosh-I-have-a-son kind of way. The real "love" switch got flipped some time later up in my room, when it was just me and him hanging out, and I felt this wave of emotion - joy, love - consume me. It's kind of weird to acknoweldge this out loud, especially since I always read about people fall in love immediately with their kid and all that - and for the last few weeks I wondered if something was wrong with me. But in hindsight, I know that there was just so much going on in those hours that, between the physical and emotional exhaustion of it all, I was just out of it, depleted to the point that it was hard to really take anything in.
The family meets Baby Boy D for the first time:
Aunt Devin
Check out my enormous face - I was swelled up like a blowfish, in part due to my hour-long sobbing fest and constant IV. I was swollen for about two weeks after this to unreal proportions. Anyway - this picture was taken while I was numb from rib cage down, more exhausted than I could imagine ever being, and convulsing with cold shivers (still) and unable to hold my child. I was able to use my hands to touch my belly, which was also stunningly swollen. My mouth was so dry I could barely talk (no fluids since about 8am). Here in the recovery room, they covered me with a space blanket type thing that they pumped hot air into so that I would warm up while also allowing me to eat ice chips, which seemed to, at least briefly, counteract the heat blanket. I was a mess. Took me about an hour to regulate. I couldn't even think straight.
Aunt Ellen, breaking Baby Boy D in with a Red Vine (she didn't really feed him this, just in case someone tries to contact the authorities).
Grandma
Literally hours old at this point.
Look how long he is!
One of the ultrasound photos we have is of the baby - at about 15 weeks - in this exact pose. We call it "the touchdown baby" pose. He loves being in this pose when he sleeps.
In his Christmas pjs - threatending Santa with a knuckle sandwich is he didn't get his presents on time.
So here I am, three weeks post-baby, and it's been quite a ride so far. Both me and my husband are on work leave (he goes back in two weeks, me at the end of January) so we've had a lot of "quality" time together. Some observations about these early stages of parenthood:
1. Your belly doesn't automatically disappear once the baby is out. Imagine my shock when I woke up the next morning and still looked 6 months pregnant. Not.Happy. This took about two weeks to go away, though I still have a jiggle belly, thanks to my almost-exclusive Oreo-and-RedVine-diet in that last month of pregnancy (and cake-for-breakfast holiday diet). Turns out my thighs still rub together as well. Su-weet.
2. It IS possible to projectile doody. Just ask my son. And his other favortie trick? The "fire hose." Yeah, it is what it sounds like. I think it's the sensation of the wet wipe that triggers a golden shower. Last night, during his birth announcement photo session, he was actually skilled enough to pee in his own face (and eyes). My kid's gifted. Trust it.
3. Breastfeeding? It's not natural OR easy. If I've had any issues, it's been this. And when your trying to breast feed, and your kid is struggling, it's REALLY emotional. I mean, you are soley responsbile for feeding your child so he survives, and when you can't do it, and it's 3am, and he won't latch, and your nipples are cracked and bleeding - well, let's just say epic meltdowns are bound to happen. And let's be honest, shall we? I'm not the most patient person in the world, and am also a bit of a obsessive perfectionist (understatement), so when I can't do something, I get a little nuts. The funny thing is is that - despite my own expectations and sense of failure - I must have been doing something right from the beginning, because he gained back both his birth weight and an extra pound in the first two weeks, which is really good. Knowing this, it's helped me to calm the eff down. Three weeks in and we are in a much better place. My kid's belly chub is evidence of this.
4. Speaking of BF - holy boobs. People weren't kidding when they said they would double in size when my milk comes in. Pregnancy blew them up, but BF has turned them into a completely different beast all together. That's all I have to say about that without giving my blog it's own warning label for explicit material.
5. Boob size ineviatbley leads me to think about returning to running, and how on earth I am going to start logging miles with these jugs bouncing around. I have no idea yet, and haven't gotten clearence anyways (given my C-section incision that still healing) but since I will continue to breast feed and thus the mild will be plentiful, I have to figure this out. Plus, BF makes you really tired, so getting back to the gym hasn't happened as I had hoped. I am aiming for sometime in the next few days, as we continue to get our schedule nailed down.
6. I'd say I have about 20 pounds of fat to get rid of at this point. Although I didn't get weighed at the last doctor's appointment (because I was in labor), best estimate for total pregnancy weight gain is about 45 pounds. Yeah, I know. Its about 10-15 more than the books say you should gain, but I was on and off bedrest for the last three months and pretty much stuck on the couch, so I guess I was bound to gain a bit more. And like I mentioned earlier, damn Oreos were the end of me. I swore I wouldn't be that girl, but here I am - 20 pounds of non-baby fat to run off. Superb.
So that should catch us up to speed on the last three weeks. I am hesitant to comment on the fact that our child is about as chill as they come, and for all intents and purposes, has been really...easy. We keep waiting for the other shoe to drop - for colic to set it, for brying jags that last all night to hit - but so far we have been really lucky. And I stress lucky, because I certainly have nothing to do with it - what with my lunatic temprement and all.
I am sure I will have some more Tales of Parenthood as we go on, and I'll squeeze them in between dodging poo rockets and being milked like a cow.
Later!
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
And She Races!
On September 24, 2011, we celebrated the life of my husband's nephew, K, who was killed last year after being struck by a car leaving school. Over the last year, my sister-in-law's friend worked tirelessly to organize a 5k/10k race in the memory of K, with all the proceeds to be donated to a scholarship fund set up in his name, and to be distributed to a high school senior through the year 2021 (when Cheese's nephew would have graduated high school).
Almost as if K put in a special request to the Big Guy, the day was incredibly beautiful. slightly brisk, with a brilliant blue sky and minimal wind. We gathered early to get settled, visit with the 1000+ people registered for the race, watch the 1-mile children's race, and get ready to sweat in the memory of K.
Me. in the white glasses to the left. Yeah, I was tugging my shorts out of my thighs. Apparently the thighs got super hungry during the race and decided to eat them (Joys of Pregnancy #211).
So here I am, coming up the finish line, bring it in at 31:50 (not too shabby for a chick who is sporting an extra 30+ pounds and a human in her stomach). And I really did try to race it as much as possible - I was able to maintain a conversation the whole time, but I was also pushing my limits a bit because I felt like - hey - if I am doing this in the name of K, then I need to try to do my best. And at 7-months preggo, a 31:50 was pretty darn close to my best.
Cheese
Cheese
Bringing it home strong!
Me and Cheese later that night at an appreciation dinner for the volunteers.
The following day, my husband participated in a golf tourney in K's memory, which was also incredibly well-supported. The weekend was wrapped up with me and Cheese, laying on the floor of my sister-in-law's living room with the rest of the family, reflecting on the awesomeness of the weekend, and laughing until I peed my pants. Over four days, there was not a single moment absent of love and appreciation. In the last year, I have been incredibly amazed to see how strong Cheese's family has been through this tragedy. It's nothing short of an honor to be consider part of this family.
So here's to another 10 years of celebrating K's life. May they be just as wonderful as this weekend.
Almost as if K put in a special request to the Big Guy, the day was incredibly beautiful. slightly brisk, with a brilliant blue sky and minimal wind. We gathered early to get settled, visit with the 1000+ people registered for the race, watch the 1-mile children's race, and get ready to sweat in the memory of K.
Me, Cheese, and his family.
(His hand is not actually on my butt - turns out, my ass has widened to the point of being unrecognizable - thanks pregnancy!)
At the start - Cheese is in front of me (126), and I am slightly behind, in white sunglasses, looking down as I cross the mat.
I ended up running with another runner who was 17 weeks pregnant,and who later commented like three times, "That was the slowest 5k I ever ran!" I wasn't sure if that was an insult to me or not, but I am pretty sure that no one forced her to stay with me the whole run. AND I am also pretty sure that I heard her weezing over that last hill, right around the time that her ability to verbally communicate me ceased. So I guess if you choose to run a 5k with a chick that's 7-months pregnant, well, then, you probably have to get over the fact that you're not going to win the darn thing.
Me. in the white glasses to the left. Yeah, I was tugging my shorts out of my thighs. Apparently the thighs got super hungry during the race and decided to eat them (Joys of Pregnancy #211).
So here I am, coming up the finish line, bring it in at 31:50 (not too shabby for a chick who is sporting an extra 30+ pounds and a human in her stomach). And I really did try to race it as much as possible - I was able to maintain a conversation the whole time, but I was also pushing my limits a bit because I felt like - hey - if I am doing this in the name of K, then I need to try to do my best. And at 7-months preggo, a 31:50 was pretty darn close to my best.
Cheese
Cheese
Bringing it home strong!
Me and Cheese later that night at an appreciation dinner for the volunteers.
The following day, my husband participated in a golf tourney in K's memory, which was also incredibly well-supported. The weekend was wrapped up with me and Cheese, laying on the floor of my sister-in-law's living room with the rest of the family, reflecting on the awesomeness of the weekend, and laughing until I peed my pants. Over four days, there was not a single moment absent of love and appreciation. In the last year, I have been incredibly amazed to see how strong Cheese's family has been through this tragedy. It's nothing short of an honor to be consider part of this family.
So here's to another 10 years of celebrating K's life. May they be just as wonderful as this weekend.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Third (as in trimesters and number of fudgicles consumed tonight)
Ah, yes. Time keeps just ticking away.
How far I've come from counting my weeks off by training blocks towards a race, to counting my weeks off by fetal development towards a little bambino. A life once organized around four week-blocks of swim, bikes and runs in progressively growing hours/miles, to a life now organized around trimesters in a progressively growing belly, hips, boobies and butt.
And so it goes.
At most recent count, I am days away from being seven months. I see that my last post had me at 6 1/2 months, so I guess my posting is getting a little more regular, right?
And since I don't have a picture of what I look like at this moment (which you wouldn't want to see anyways, because I look like a massive slob sitting here in a lounger busting out of a race shirt from a race done exactly one year ago and boxer shorts with an elastic waistband at it's breaking point), I will post a picture of what I looked like at the last post at 6 1/2 months.
(p.s. I know this goes against everything I have said previously about posting belly pics, but I feel these are not completely offensive - oh, and ignore my messy bed in the background - I don't make it when my husband is on the road, which he has been for a month):
The clothing version (taken the morning of Ironman Madison):
The "going to the gym" version (taken the day before Ironman Madison):
I can't completely account for why the one picture makes the bump looks smaller, despite the fact they were taken only 24 hours apart, but oh well. Some mornings I wake up and the little guy looks small, and some days - like the gym day - I wake up and it looks ENORMOUS.
Speaking of the gym, here's the skinny on the fitness at (now) almost seven months.
So remember how I mentioned I was training with my sister for the marathon? Well, that was awesome, and I loved it, but my doctor put the kabash on that last week. Specifically, she said I need to knock it off with the 10-milers, and that really anything over 5-6 is pushing it. I think part of the reason is that the baby is pretty low, and really pushing against my pelvis, so (if I'm being honest) it's actually starting to hurt a little.
I wasn't all that surprised or even disappointed to hear it because my last long run was 11 with my sister, and I could have sworn I heard little Baby D screaming, "Momma, no more! Please stop or I'll fall out!"
And I did five on Sunday while sherpa-ing my sister's 20-miler and it felt fine. So five miles it is for the time being.
And next up on the running schedule is a race! This weekend I am going to Kansas for the 5k/10k memorial race for Cheese's nephew who was killed last year at this time. Saturday is the race, and Sunday is a big golf outing (which I will not be participating in, but rather will be supporting everyone in my fancy new maternity jeans and wedge sandals, thankyouverymuch). I probably won't "race" the race, but rather will just try to do my best and enjoy the day with the family. Shoo, I'm happy to just slap a race number on and see an actual finish line. Holla!
Speaking of Cheese - have I mentioned I haven't seen my husband in a month? Yikes. Won't he be surprised to come home to a newly rounded out wife! Lemme tell you - not like he can really do anything for me, but it kinda sucks having him gone for most of this pregnancy. It's just...hard. I miss him like mad and I know it sucks for him too.
And you know what I look forward to most when he comes home? Well, besides someone to actually cook me dinner so I can stop going to Chipotle all the time? Seeing his face when he feels his kid punch and kick his way out of my belly. And when he sees my belly jump around because the kid is rolling around and stretching his muscles. I know how much it makes me smile, so I can only imagine what Cheese's smile will be like. I am proud to be carrying this man's child. Proud, I tell ya.
So, I have a lot more to talk about, but I my bladder is SCREAMING and I need another fudgicle, so I will wrap it up for tonight.
How far I've come from counting my weeks off by training blocks towards a race, to counting my weeks off by fetal development towards a little bambino. A life once organized around four week-blocks of swim, bikes and runs in progressively growing hours/miles, to a life now organized around trimesters in a progressively growing belly, hips, boobies and butt.
And so it goes.
At most recent count, I am days away from being seven months. I see that my last post had me at 6 1/2 months, so I guess my posting is getting a little more regular, right?
And since I don't have a picture of what I look like at this moment (which you wouldn't want to see anyways, because I look like a massive slob sitting here in a lounger busting out of a race shirt from a race done exactly one year ago and boxer shorts with an elastic waistband at it's breaking point), I will post a picture of what I looked like at the last post at 6 1/2 months.
(p.s. I know this goes against everything I have said previously about posting belly pics, but I feel these are not completely offensive - oh, and ignore my messy bed in the background - I don't make it when my husband is on the road, which he has been for a month):
The clothing version (taken the morning of Ironman Madison):
The "going to the gym" version (taken the day before Ironman Madison):
I can't completely account for why the one picture makes the bump looks smaller, despite the fact they were taken only 24 hours apart, but oh well. Some mornings I wake up and the little guy looks small, and some days - like the gym day - I wake up and it looks ENORMOUS.
Speaking of the gym, here's the skinny on the fitness at (now) almost seven months.
So remember how I mentioned I was training with my sister for the marathon? Well, that was awesome, and I loved it, but my doctor put the kabash on that last week. Specifically, she said I need to knock it off with the 10-milers, and that really anything over 5-6 is pushing it. I think part of the reason is that the baby is pretty low, and really pushing against my pelvis, so (if I'm being honest) it's actually starting to hurt a little.
I wasn't all that surprised or even disappointed to hear it because my last long run was 11 with my sister, and I could have sworn I heard little Baby D screaming, "Momma, no more! Please stop or I'll fall out!"
And I did five on Sunday while sherpa-ing my sister's 20-miler and it felt fine. So five miles it is for the time being.
And next up on the running schedule is a race! This weekend I am going to Kansas for the 5k/10k memorial race for Cheese's nephew who was killed last year at this time. Saturday is the race, and Sunday is a big golf outing (which I will not be participating in, but rather will be supporting everyone in my fancy new maternity jeans and wedge sandals, thankyouverymuch). I probably won't "race" the race, but rather will just try to do my best and enjoy the day with the family. Shoo, I'm happy to just slap a race number on and see an actual finish line. Holla!
Speaking of Cheese - have I mentioned I haven't seen my husband in a month? Yikes. Won't he be surprised to come home to a newly rounded out wife! Lemme tell you - not like he can really do anything for me, but it kinda sucks having him gone for most of this pregnancy. It's just...hard. I miss him like mad and I know it sucks for him too.
And you know what I look forward to most when he comes home? Well, besides someone to actually cook me dinner so I can stop going to Chipotle all the time? Seeing his face when he feels his kid punch and kick his way out of my belly. And when he sees my belly jump around because the kid is rolling around and stretching his muscles. I know how much it makes me smile, so I can only imagine what Cheese's smile will be like. I am proud to be carrying this man's child. Proud, I tell ya.
So, I have a lot more to talk about, but I my bladder is SCREAMING and I need another fudgicle, so I will wrap it up for tonight.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
"Warriors Eat Pirates and Shit Ninjas"
Yeah, that about says it all.
So, whenever anyone asks me to do a different kind of race, I am almost always up for the challenge.
200-mile relay? Why not!
Time trial bike race? Sign me up!
Obstacle course 5k where you run through fire and crawl through mud?
Absolut-!
Wait - what?
Oh yeah - I was all on board for the "obstacle" part, but seems that when I was asked about this back on Easter, I must have been in a cheesecake/banana mousse coma and sort of missed the "jumping-over-fire" part.
When it was brought to my attention by Spie, it was too late. Money paid, deal on.
So without further ado, let me introduce you to the Warrior Dash.
The Warrior Dash is a 5k obstacle-course run. All of it is on trails and through wooded areas, and almost the whole thing consists of sloshing through mud.
I was told there were 12 obstacles, but I didn't count. And although I promised to take a disposable camera along, it's been a crazy weekend here at Chez Cheese, and I forgot.
We've got action pics of some of the obstacles, but for the rest, you'll have to deal with my often-tangential description.
The Warriors - Havilah (Ellen's sister-in-law), my brother-in-law Patrick, and me.
Me and the Preggo. A real warrior would have worn her Big Girl pants and hauled some ass through the mud pits. *shrugs* Guess we aren't all cut out for the horns.
Side note - what on Earth is Havi doing in the backgroud? We are supposed to EAT ninjas for lunch, not pose like one!
Sweet head gear. Once my fur lined panties arrives later this week, the REAL fun will begin, if you know what I mean.
*wink*
And if you don't know what I mean, it means you're my 11-year-old neice sneaking peeks at my blog, and you shouldn't be reading this adult material anyway. So get off before I call your mom.
Either that, or you're on a dry spell. But dont' worry. I used to have dry spells too. It'll pass.
Intimidation.
Anything look "off" in this picture? Nothing? Maybe it's just me...
All taped up, just in case. I had my orthodics in my shoes, which I wasn't about to part with, especially right in the middle of marathon training. Word on the street was that in the first (of two) mud pits, there were floating shoes from the poor souls that didn't think ahead to use duct tape.
Kissin' the guns.
Okay - so the gun that usually goes off is actually in the form of fire shooting out of two columns bookending the start line. We run underneath them, and dang, it's hot.
We run for about 1/2 mile, mostly over grass, with a few muddy hills and puddles thrown in. It's slippery, somewhat strecherous, and hard to keep the footing safe. First obstacle comes up, and we have to hurdle ourselves over a bunch of busted out cars in a busted-out-car graveyard.
Following that, we have to hurdle a bunch of walls - I basically run up, sit my fat stuff on the top, and toss my legs over. We rope climb up a muddle hills, army crawl through some large drainage piles, hurdle ourselves over a HUGE drainage pipe (that I actually slide right back down off of, and had to be boosted over with the help of a man behind me).
Enter first mud pit - I slid down a hill and right as I got to the bottom, I launched myself dive-style into the waist high mud water. I slopped through - feet getting stuck in the mud under the water, and then battled my way up the muddy incline at the other side. It was a joke trying to get footing.
It was right around here that I noticed everyone else walking.
Why?
Because trying to run soaking wet and covered in mud is like trying to run with ten pound weights on my ankles.
I got a couple of encouraging words from the walkers around me as I kept running.
I eventually rounded the corner to the open main field.
It's the hay stack climb.
I know it looks like I was sitting up there, but believe me you - I was not. I was stratagizing while trying not to tunble straight down on my face. Apparently it paid off too - Cheese told me that a couple people tried to run down (?!?!) and biffed on their faces.
Next up - the rope climb. Good thing I kissed the guns earlier - I really needed their help.
It was here that I also heard "GO IRONMEG!" coming from the crowd from none other than Iron Clyde!! Turns out his wife was running it and he was (perhaps for first time, Clyde?) being the spectator. Dude, it was AWESOME to hear that name be called out!
And down.....
After these two obstacles, there was a tire-hop where you have to one-foot hop through a mess of tires, like a football player - only these were filled with mud and staggered in a way that forced you to leap more than actually hop. This was then followed by a series (like 16 or so) up and down hills - all riddled with big roots and mud holes.
Ahh, and for the moment we've all been waiting for.
The fire jump and mud pit. In video!
(I am the one in the white visor and white tank)
And just in case you couldn't really see me (or concentrate over Cheese's screaming), here is a up-close picture of my brother-in-law.
Nice of him to bring a little Christamas to June with his chestnuts and an open fire. Just hauling the ol' boys over the heat...
Same goes for the final mud pit - here is Havi, so you can see just how low and deep you have to get into it.
Can anyone out there explain how my entire being is crusted over with mud except for this one little spot right there on the bottom of my shirt?!?!
Me and my ten-pound ankle weights.
Me and my War Paint.
Three Warriors
Hi Mom!
Me and Patrick
Puttin' a little (s)ass into it.
Well, as long as the mud made me sloppy, why shouldn't the beer?
Nom, nom, nom.
Real Warriors eat the grizzle.
Guess if you can't be one, marry one.
Final thoughts?
Do.This.Race.
It was plain old stupid fun. Wet, sloppy, muddy, fun.
Oh, and did I also mention stinky? Hell yeah, it smelled like a massive turd from the second we stepped off the shuttle through the last mud pit - real people turd, too. I mean, could a race be MORE tailored to the girl who is chronically a shoelace-distance away from crapping her pants? And oddly, it actually made it more fun - thinking I was swimming in turd.
Now if THAT'S not an endorsement, what is?
So, whenever anyone asks me to do a different kind of race, I am almost always up for the challenge.
200-mile relay? Why not!
Time trial bike race? Sign me up!
Obstacle course 5k where you run through fire and crawl through mud?
Absolut-!
Wait - what?
Oh yeah - I was all on board for the "obstacle" part, but seems that when I was asked about this back on Easter, I must have been in a cheesecake/banana mousse coma and sort of missed the "jumping-over-fire" part.
When it was brought to my attention by Spie, it was too late. Money paid, deal on.
So without further ado, let me introduce you to the Warrior Dash.
The Warrior Dash is a 5k obstacle-course run. All of it is on trails and through wooded areas, and almost the whole thing consists of sloshing through mud.
I was told there were 12 obstacles, but I didn't count. And although I promised to take a disposable camera along, it's been a crazy weekend here at Chez Cheese, and I forgot.
We've got action pics of some of the obstacles, but for the rest, you'll have to deal with my often-tangential description.
The Warriors - Havilah (Ellen's sister-in-law), my brother-in-law Patrick, and me.
Me and the Preggo. A real warrior would have worn her Big Girl pants and hauled some ass through the mud pits. *shrugs* Guess we aren't all cut out for the horns.
Side note - what on Earth is Havi doing in the backgroud? We are supposed to EAT ninjas for lunch, not pose like one!
Sweet head gear. Once my fur lined panties arrives later this week, the REAL fun will begin, if you know what I mean.
*wink*
And if you don't know what I mean, it means you're my 11-year-old neice sneaking peeks at my blog, and you shouldn't be reading this adult material anyway. So get off before I call your mom.
Either that, or you're on a dry spell. But dont' worry. I used to have dry spells too. It'll pass.
Intimidation.
Anything look "off" in this picture? Nothing? Maybe it's just me...
All taped up, just in case. I had my orthodics in my shoes, which I wasn't about to part with, especially right in the middle of marathon training. Word on the street was that in the first (of two) mud pits, there were floating shoes from the poor souls that didn't think ahead to use duct tape.
Kissin' the guns.
Okay - so the gun that usually goes off is actually in the form of fire shooting out of two columns bookending the start line. We run underneath them, and dang, it's hot.
We run for about 1/2 mile, mostly over grass, with a few muddy hills and puddles thrown in. It's slippery, somewhat strecherous, and hard to keep the footing safe. First obstacle comes up, and we have to hurdle ourselves over a bunch of busted out cars in a busted-out-car graveyard.
Following that, we have to hurdle a bunch of walls - I basically run up, sit my fat stuff on the top, and toss my legs over. We rope climb up a muddle hills, army crawl through some large drainage piles, hurdle ourselves over a HUGE drainage pipe (that I actually slide right back down off of, and had to be boosted over with the help of a man behind me).
Enter first mud pit - I slid down a hill and right as I got to the bottom, I launched myself dive-style into the waist high mud water. I slopped through - feet getting stuck in the mud under the water, and then battled my way up the muddy incline at the other side. It was a joke trying to get footing.
It was right around here that I noticed everyone else walking.
Why?
Because trying to run soaking wet and covered in mud is like trying to run with ten pound weights on my ankles.
I got a couple of encouraging words from the walkers around me as I kept running.
I eventually rounded the corner to the open main field.
It's the hay stack climb.
I know it looks like I was sitting up there, but believe me you - I was not. I was stratagizing while trying not to tunble straight down on my face. Apparently it paid off too - Cheese told me that a couple people tried to run down (?!?!) and biffed on their faces.
Next up - the rope climb. Good thing I kissed the guns earlier - I really needed their help.
It was here that I also heard "GO IRONMEG!" coming from the crowd from none other than Iron Clyde!! Turns out his wife was running it and he was (perhaps for first time, Clyde?) being the spectator. Dude, it was AWESOME to hear that name be called out!
And down.....
After these two obstacles, there was a tire-hop where you have to one-foot hop through a mess of tires, like a football player - only these were filled with mud and staggered in a way that forced you to leap more than actually hop. This was then followed by a series (like 16 or so) up and down hills - all riddled with big roots and mud holes.
Ahh, and for the moment we've all been waiting for.
The fire jump and mud pit. In video!
(I am the one in the white visor and white tank)
And just in case you couldn't really see me (or concentrate over Cheese's screaming), here is a up-close picture of my brother-in-law.
Nice of him to bring a little Christamas to June with his chestnuts and an open fire. Just hauling the ol' boys over the heat...
Same goes for the final mud pit - here is Havi, so you can see just how low and deep you have to get into it.
Can anyone out there explain how my entire being is crusted over with mud except for this one little spot right there on the bottom of my shirt?!?!
Me and my ten-pound ankle weights.
Me and my War Paint.
Three Warriors
Hi Mom!
Me and Patrick
Puttin' a little (s)ass into it.
Well, as long as the mud made me sloppy, why shouldn't the beer?
Nom, nom, nom.
Real Warriors eat the grizzle.
Guess if you can't be one, marry one.
Final thoughts?
Do.This.Race.
It was plain old stupid fun. Wet, sloppy, muddy, fun.
Oh, and did I also mention stinky? Hell yeah, it smelled like a massive turd from the second we stepped off the shuttle through the last mud pit - real people turd, too. I mean, could a race be MORE tailored to the girl who is chronically a shoelace-distance away from crapping her pants? And oddly, it actually made it more fun - thinking I was swimming in turd.
Now if THAT'S not an endorsement, what is?
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