She ain't heavy, she's a mother!

Today I’ll be finishing a recovery week with a 10 mile run this afternoon. I have been steadily running over 20 miles a week, and last week I ran a total of 25 miles, with a 13 mile run on Sunday. All the mileage is starting to add up now, and 7 mile runs are starting to feel like 3 mile runs, and 10 mile runs are starting feel as easy as 5 mile runs felt a month ago.  Coming up this week, 4 mile, 7 mile, and 3 mile runs, followed by a 15 miler next Sunday. On Tuesday my Lucia will be 4 months old.  And on Tuesday I will have exactly 2 more months until the Disney marathon.

I really can’t believe how fast this year has gone. A year ago this weekend we announced to our immediate family that we were expecting.  The holidays came and went, I started a new job, and sure enough Lucia was here before we knew it. I thought that life would slow down a little once she was born, but I was wrong.  These last four months have flown by. Lucia is getting so big and so strong, and although life has changed significantly in the last year, my husband and I couldn’t be happier.

By now, most everyone I know has figured out that I’m running this marathon, if I hadn’t told them already. But now that everyone knows, there’s no shortage of people offering their opinions about my running, my ability to run, or whether or not they think I should be running at all. For the most part my family is supportive, but I can tell you that even my father questioned whether or not I was getting “back in the game” too quickly. Last week one of my co-workers watched me try to covertly adjust my slightly tight pre-pregnancy khaki’s and then turned to me and said, “So when is this marathon you say your training for?” When I told him it was in January he quipped, “Setting some lofty goals for yourself, huh?” I just smiled, told him that I felt pretty good about my chances, and shrugged it off. I’m pretty sure he was questioning the shape that I was in, and it got me feeling a little self-conscious about the fact that although my pre-pregnancy khakis  zipped and buttoned up just fine, I guess they didn’t look as good on me as they used to.  But seriously, what woman looks good in khakis anyway? I only wear them because I have to.  Sometimes I don’t think men realize how sensitive new Moms can be about their bodies, but I do have to thank him in part for entering a new level in my training this past week.

As I said my mileage is steadily increasing and up until last week my focus has been to just finish my runs.  I always try to set a time goal, and come as close to a 10 minute mile as possible, but in the end I just want to finish the run. Well, that has now changed!  I upped my game a little for my last five runs, running at a 9:30/mile pace. When I finished my 13 miler last Sunday, I ran it faster than I had run my 12 miler the week before.  I am sore, I am very tired, and at the same time I feel wonderful.  I can finally say that I am back to my pre-pregnancy weight, can fit into most of my clothes, and I am happy.  

I don’t look like a runner, and I am not skinny. I do need to lose more weight (those extra 8 lbs I put on before I even got pregnant). But hey, I can run. I can run far. I can push my baby all around this neighborhood and not get tired. I am a Mommy, and if you don’t like the few extra pounds I have accumulated from bringing a beautiful baby girl into the world, you don’t have to look! It took me a long time to realize that you don’t need to be a size zero to be a runner. There really isn’t a typical runner’s body.  But there is a runner’s mind, and I have it.  I will run in two months, and I will be ready.  I will finish 26.2 miles with a smile on my face, because this body, fat or not, can do it! So, thank you Mr. “Lofty Goals” for giving me a little push to work that much harder, I may not be the size you think a marathon runner should be, but I AM A RUNNER, and I can run circles around you.

Conquering Chicago

I haven’t been keeping up with my blog lately, in fact I’ve just been trying to keep up with life. I just started working again full time, and this week was Lucia’s first in daycare.  As expected, everything went as planned, Lucia did wonderfully, I made it through the week, and like most Mommies, crashed into a deep sleep once the week was over.  Lucia is still magically sleeping through the night which makes everything tremendously easier.

Surprisingly enough I have been able to keep up with my running. It’s my fifth week of training for the Disney Marathon and I was able to pull off a 3 mile, 5 mile, and 3 mile run this week, all while trying to fight off a cold. On Sunday I have to run 10 miles, again, the furthest I’ve run in almost a year.  I’ve had to run on the treadmill a lot so that I can make sure to watch the baby at the same time, but I am finally starting to feel good and I am keeping a steady 10 minute mile pace. Lucia still smiles as she watches me run and go nowhere, and when she gets bored she plays in her gym right next to me.  

My first day back at work went pretty smoothly, and as the week progressed I knew that being a working mom would be tough, but completely worth it.  While I love my child more than anything in this world, I love my job too. By Wednesday, however, the guilt started to kick in. I work in both the pediatric and orthopedic settings, but pediatrics is my passion and I love working with children with special needs. I love my little kiddos at work, but I have days when I feel bad that I’m looking after other people’s children when my own child is across the street being looked after by someone else.  So in a moment of weakness, and after my 12:45 patient cancelled, I emailed my Dad (yes, I’m 27 years old and I still run to Daddy when the going gets tough, I hope Lucia will be the same way with Jason) to vent my frustrations. Like always, my Dad has the best advice.  In his reply email he wrote two things that he has told me before, and I need to always remember; “As I've always told you, you CAN have it all -- you just have to work harder to make it all come together,” and “You will do fine, and you will be a great Mother -- you have a great example!”

I’ll tackle the latter statement first.  I do have a great example.  My mom is truly the quintessential “Super Mom.” When we were young my Mom was a teacher, a Department of Defense award winning teacher actually. She too took care of other children while someone else watched my brother and I. My Mom loved her students, and she poured her heart and soul into teaching. When I look back on my childhood I never once felt neglected, or like Mom never spent time with us.  In fact I felt really lucky to be the daughter of everyone’s favorite teacher.  Most importantly, my Mom made the time that she did spend with us count, whether it was dressing me up like a princess, carting me to t-ball, or shopping in Itaewon for big huge stuffed animals. My mom was/is the best. Not only is she a good example of a mother, but she is a good example of a person.  I used to be insulted when someone would tell me I was just like my mother, now I take it as a compliment.  Sometimes Jason will catch me doing something just  like she does and says “You are JUST like her.” And I just look at him, smile, and say, “Well, then you are one lucky guy!” I love you Mom, when I run like a mother, I think of all the things you have sacrificed for me, thank you for everything that you have done, and everything you continue to do for me and our family.

Now, back to my Dad. It’s true. He has always told me that I can have it all. And at times, I have found that hard to believe. But if there is anyone who knows about “having it all” it’s my Dad. If you know my Dad you know that there is nothing he does that he doesn’t put 100% of his entire being into. Everything he has ever set his mind to, he has done.  For example, he used to tell me that when he was a little boy his goal was to conquer the world. He is now a thriving international business man, has been for over 20 years, and continues to travel all over the world kicking butt and taking names.  For lack of a better term my Dad is a “bad-ass.” The best thing about my Dad is that on his way to the top, he was always a father and a husband before anything else.  And every once in a while, Dad took time for himself too. 

When we lived in Spain my Dad started training for his first marathon. He would get up and run early in the morning before anyone else woke up so that his running wouldn’t take away any time from being with his family. I was 16 years old when I saw him cross the finish line of the Madrid Marathon, and I was so proud. He was a machine. 

Years came and went, and in 2007 my Dad started training again. Coincidentally that was the year I ran my first marathon.  I remember my Dad joining me at mile 19. There was a hill called the Calvert climb in DC and up until that point I had run the entire race only stopping at water stations. That hill broke me down! But my Dad helped me push through it. For the next 6 miles he ran by my side and helped me push through it.  Whether it was his usual words of wisdom, or a kick in the butt, he pushed me.  About 400 yards away from the finish line my Dad left the course and let me finish the race on my own. “Finish strong,” he said.  It felt like I sprinted all the way to end, and when I crossed the finish line I was on such an adrenaline high that I felt like I could have run 2 or 3 more miles.  I frantically started looking for my family and friends who had come to cheer me on.  I found my grandparents first, hugged them and assured them that I was not dying:) Then my Mom, who was crying, made me get a little teary.  Then my Dad finally made his way through the crowd. And of course, like Daddy’s little girl, I started bawling. He wrapped me up in that tin foil looking blanket they hand you at the end of the race, hugged me, and said “Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you can’t do something, you can do anything you put your mind to.” 

I know that my Dad lives by those words. He shows it in everything he does. After that marathon my Dad and I ran the Baltimore Under Armour Marathon together, the Virginia Beach half, the Marine Corps Marathon, the Cincinnatti Flying Pig Marathon, and another hand full of halfs. In 2008 my Dad tried qualifying for the Boston Marathon, but missed out due to hamstring injury, and a poor tape job from his daughter (me).  Dad has kept trying and trying and trying, and has been getting faster and faster and faster. Failure has never been an option for him! My Dad is STILL a machine, and this weekend Dad is running the Chicago marathon, and will (the power of positive thinking is great, another lesson my Dad taught me) finish in less than 3 hours and 35 minutes. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to see him do it.  But I will take off on my 10 mile run tomorrow and I will pretend like I’m running with him (hoping that he is running much faster than I will be)  and pushing him through the final miles, just like he pushed me a few years ago. I know my Dad will do it, after all, my Dad has conquered the world.  Conquering Chicago will be easy!

To my parents: Thank you for teaching me the importance of hard work, making me the person who I am, a decent wife (I hope), and good mother… and helping me be a better runner too.  Let’s conquer Chicago this weekend… then it’s onto Boston in the Spring!!!!

Inspiration

"Without inspiration the best powers of the mind remain dormant. There is a fuel in us which needs to be ignited with sparks."
~Johann Gottfried Von Herder

This week I began my third week of training for the Disney Marathon in January. On Saturday I ran 7 miles, the longest distance I have run since December 12, 2009. It took me exactly 70 minutes to complete it, not a second longer, and it was possibly the most arduous 7 miles I have run to date.  

That morning, Lucia was being quite fussy. For the 18^th night in row she had slept through the night, and while I count my blessings every day that she is such a wonderful baby, her very adult sleeping habits make for some very long days. I was beginning to realize that my run would have to be put on hold for a little while.

I had originally planned to run outside while my husband, Jason, watched her, but he had go into work last minute to take care of some paper work .  I knew Lucia wanted to get outside for a bit.  I could see it in her eyes. So, I took her for a little walk in the jogger to calm her down and waited for Jason to get home.  It was beginning to get hotter outside, and by 9 am it was already 90 degrees.  Jason wasn’t back yet.  So I decided that these 7 miles would have to be run on the treadmill.  Yes, I would be running 7 miles on a treadmill. Now, to some, 7 miles on a treadmill may not sound that bad. However, most runners will tell you that running on treadmill is not only physically exhausting, but mentally exhausting as well.  Unfortunately, (or fortunately, however you chose to look at it) it had to get done and I moved Lucia’s gym mat into our recreation room and I started running.

The 7 miles were hard and they were long. I kept looking over at Lucia watching me from the floor.  At times it seemed like she was laughing at me, almost like she was saying “This woman is crazy, running all this time and going nowhere.”  And, she was right. I was going nowhere, but my mind was going all over the place trying to find reasons to stick with it.  I had to find motivation to keep going, stride after stride, mile after mile, on a very boring and squeaky treadmill.  I had to find inspiration.

With my daughter playing next to me as I ran, finding inspiration wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be.  One of my favorite quotes is one by Walt Streightiff; “There are no seven wonders of the world in the eyes of a child. There are seven million."  As she looked up and smiled at me I knew that I was one of her 7 million wonders, and that made me run harder.  My will to always be one of her wonders, made me stronger.  Her love for me made me confident.  I began to realize that while I was running for her and because of her, she was the one making me a better and stronger runner!  I realized that she was the best inspiration a mother could have, and a million miles on the treadmill would be possible as long as she was smiling next to me.

I finished the 7 miles, and it was hard. My body hurt, and today my body still hurts.  But my heart is happy.  And so I will keep running. 

This week is my third week of training, my third week of a quest to prove to my daughter and to myself that mommies can do it all. These next 16 weeks will be hard and tiresome, but when it gets tough I know that I can draw on my little 10 pound bundle of inspiration to get me through. 

So here is lesson #1 for my little Lucia: Find your inspiration… let it move you, let it drive you, and let it guide you in everything that you do!

Running For Lucia

I thought long and hard about what I would title this blog.  I looked through many different pages, websites, and runner’s blogs to see if anything would inspire me.  I found several “fitmommies”, “motherrunners”, “marathonmoms”, and “marathonmamas” and was disappointed when I realized that most of my ideas had already been taken.  Then I thought about why I decided to start writing this blog in the first place.  I decided to write it for my 2 month old daughter Lucia.  In fact, I run for my daughter Lucia.  Actually, everything I do now I do for Lucia.

So there you have it…Running For Lucia!

You see, three years ago I ran my first marathon.  My reasons for running back then were very different. I was very athletic growing up. My parents were athletic, I was always around active people, and my social life seemed to always revolve around some type of athletic activity.  I played every sport you can imagine in high school, but volleyball was my passion and I played a short stint of volleyball in college.  I hated running.  The most we would ever run was suicide drills and the occasional 2k loop from the Lilly Athletic Center around College Street and Locust Street. When it came time to run our timed mile, which our coach wanted us to run in under 8 minutes, the best I could do was 8:21. I could set, I could spike, I could sprint, and when I would jump-serve I looked like I was flying through the air. But, I couldn’t run an 8 minute mile. I HATED running. In February of my senior year in college I found out that I had been accepted into Duke University School of Medicine’s Doctor of Physical Therapy program.  My focus quickly changed. I became so immersed in preparing for Duke that I forgot what it was that actually got me into the program in the first place. When I began my first semester of graduate school I did nothing but study, eat, and sleep (well, mainly study and eat) and sent myself into a spiral of unhealthy habits. The studying wasn’t going very well either and I was beginning to believe that there was such a thing as studying too much. By the end of that semester I had gained 25 lbs. Now, that in itself seems like a lot of weight, but add that to my small boned 5’3 frame and you realize how enormous that weight gain is.  I remember thinking that my days as an athlete were over. I knew that I had to do something to get control of my life again. I started working out, lifting weights mostly, and running/jogging/walking on the treadmill for cardio workouts. That summer I ran a 5k just for fun.  The weight was starting to come off, I was starting to look and act like myself again, and I was doing much better in school. One day I was running the loop around Duke’s East campus and I just decided out of the blue that I wanted to run a marathon. My plan was to train for one, run one, finish one, and just be happy enough that I could put myself into the elite category of people who can say that they have completed a grueling 26.2 miles.  

On March 24^th, 2007, I finished the National Marathon in Washington DC in a respectable time of 4 hours 30 minutes and 29 seconds.  I was addicted, I wanted to run more and more and more and more. I had gone from hating running to not knowing what I would do without it. My runs became my time to de-stress, my time to think about my day, my time to think about what I had accomplished, and my time to think about what I had yet to accomplish. Graduate school was all of a sudden easier, I was getting better grades, I was excelling in my clinical work, and I still had time to stay healthy and SANE. By the time I graduated from Duke I had run 4 marathons and 5 half marathons . I had met the love of my life, was in the best shape of my life, and had completed my clinical doctorate degree. Everything in my life had fallen into place, and I believed that it had all started with running. I was running for me.  I was running for my sanity, I was running to stay in shape, and I was running to feel good about myself. I was running for me. I RAN FOR ME.

On July 11^th, 2009 I made the best decision of my life, much better than the decision to become a runner. I married my best friend!  Our first year of marriage proved to be whirlwind of events and emotions. We knew pretty early that we wanted to have children. The problem was, with all this running, I wasn’t ovulating. I thought something was wrong with me. I was by no means a skinny girl, in fact I would say that I was a little on the heavier side. I had strong legs and strong arms, and was this little stout power house. But, the running was starting to take a toll on my system.  My OB suggested that I cut down on the running and see what happened. So, I cut down.  Instead of training for a full marathon that winter like I had planned, I just trained for a half.  

November 4^th, 2009: Two pink lines!  We were pregnant!  And, by cutting down on my running I was barely pregnant and already had gained 8 lbs. The excitement of my pregnancy quickly turned into concern about my body, and about my running. I was supposed to run a half marathon in Kiawah Island on December 12^th.   So with my doctors approval, I continued to run. I ran a half marathon 9 weeks pregnant.  I took it slow and finished with my husband by my side in 2 hours and 40 minutes.  Except this time it was different.  I wasn’t concerned about my terribly slow time, I wasn’t concerned about how pudgy I looked for pictures, and I wasn’t concerned that I probably wouldn’t run 13.1 miles again for a very long time. I felt incredibly accomplished. I had carried my child with me every step of the way.  She had run that distance with me, and she had crossed the finish line with me.  It was then that I realized that my reasons for running were beginning to change.

I continued to run short distances until I was 5 months pregnant when my OB advised me to stop. For selfish reasons I did not want to stop, but I did. I was, however, allowed to walk as much as I wanted to, and I continued to walk the mileage I had been running. I had family members who didn’t understand it; people thought that I was hurting the baby by doing so much activity. I’ll be honest and admit that I was insulted every time someone questioned my being active during my pregnancy. No one seemed to understand that what I was doing was good for my child. On July 7^th, 2010… after a very healthy and uneventful pregnancy, I was induced. I had walked four miles the day before, not realizing that I was about to complete the marathon of all marathons; 49 hours and 39 minutes of labor. On July 9^th at 9:39 pm, my daughter, Deborah Lucia, was born.  She was this little 6 lbs 13 oz bundle of joy, and she came out fighting.  She was tiny, but she was so strong already, and I couldn’t help thinking that she was just like her momma!  I remember the doctors praising me for all the activity that I did while I was pregnant, while it did not make the labor any shorter (as people often say activity does) my body wasn’t as depleted as one would think after 49 hours of it.  And Lucia was healthy and beautiful and perfect.

Three days after giving birth, I was walking 3-4 miles a day again. Two weeks later, with my doctor’s blessing, I began running again, and I was feeling great. Lucia was still too young and too little to take her with me, so I would run when my mother could watch her (Thanks Mom!) or when my husband got home from work. When she was about 4 weeks old I took her out in the jogger with me.  The first run I did with her was slow, partly because I was getting used to running with the jogger, and partly because I am an over-protective new mother that crawled over every little bump in the road that we came across.

It has since gotten easier.  Lucia is now 11 weeks old and she loves running with me.  In fact sometimes I have to take her for a run because it’s the only thing that calms her down.  I have begun training for my 5^th marathon, and am 3 lbs away from my pre-baby weight.

After everything, I am still running. But today I am not running for me. I am running for Lucia. I am running because by running I am a better mother for her.  I am running because by running I set a good example for her. I am running because it makes her laugh, I am running because it makes her smile, I am running because she lets me, and I am running because she runs with me. With every mile I complete, I show my daughter everything a woman and a mother CAN do, instead of letting her think that motherhood is an excuse for the things that women say they can’t do. So today I RUN FOR LUCIA, and I hope that one day she can look back and say “I learned a lot from my runs with Mom.”