Thursday, October 13, 2011
I ran today. I've waited, and waited, and waited, until Ben turned 12 weeks old to take even one measly running step. I'm trying to be smart with my recovery this time, and the physical therapist I've been seeing said to wait three months postpartum to run because, she says, it takes that long for your pelvis to settle (and I've had particularly shifty SI Joint issues).
Ben turned 12 weeks today. And I've been looking forward to this day — and the beginning of reclaiming my runner self — since I was still pregnant.
My heart raced as I drove to the trail head. Once out of the car and approaching the trail, the sky looked bluer. The trees were more golden. I must have had a ridiculous grin on my face. I was about to jump out of my skin with excitement, but instead, I hiked up the path for the first 15 minutes to warm up. Then I did it. I ran...but just for two minutes, at first. I decided to start back with a mild walk/run/walk plan to see how my postpartum and oft-injured body adjusts. I ran for two minutes, walked for one four times. Then I ran for three minutes because I just couldn't stop. Then walked for one minute, ran for one minute three more times. It was 14 glorious minutes of running, total, during my 40-minute outing. I felt like I was flying, but I was probably running somewhere around a 12-minute-mile pace.
How'd it feel? Parts of my body creaked and crackled. I was aware of my still-not-flat belly, but the bliss of movement and semi-running on the trail on a 70-degree day put that right out of my head. I was so happy, that I sat through an hour-long session at the dentist office right afterward (changed clothes in the car) and didn't even mind it.
I was a sweaty mama, which made me a happy mama. I'm hoping to continue the progress.