I feel like myself for the first time in maybe two months. Maybe since NOLA? Maybe longer?
After last week of being so demolished by a cold and morning sickness that walking was a chore, I felt lost. I felt weak and foreign. Then my cold broke enough.
This week, sick or not, I stopped fucking around. I hit the weights at the gym at work. I made it prenatal yoga. I went running–twice so far. And it didn’t feel like abject torture the whole time.
I worked harder this week to abandon my inner coach. After years of training myself to ignore my body and its whining, I turned to start heading it, adjusting for it. I worked harder to abandon pace expectations and self critique.
I let the run be the run.
Or jog. Or near walk at this point. Whatever. I let it be.
I discovered that when I did not try to push my pace to it’s more “normal,” I did not want to die the whole time. I need to let myself be slow(er). It doesn’t matter right now. I just want to run with my baby; I just want to keep my progress for when I return to training post partum.
I pushed myself at run club tonight but in moderation, which is something I am not familiar with. We did not do the full 10K, instead a modified 5 mile route. I strived to wog up both the killer hills, letting myself do it lethargically, but I managed to make it without stopping. That challenge, that minor accomplishment made it felt like running again. That push brought back the high and the endorphins.
I feel like I’m actually getting back on track. I am hoping the sickness and the nausea are moving behind me, but I’m not overly optimistic yet. When I see a week without puking, then I’ll hope. Right now, I’m on day two.
My blisters are back. My muscles are tired and whining. My hips ache. I feel like myself again.