So apparently this is a thing

Over the course of my long, spotty, sometimes successful (no doubt requiring a special alignment of planets) running career I've had just about every running-related injury imaginable. Plantar fasciitis, tendinitis of the achilles, patellar and peroneal insertional varieties, IT band syndrome, countless calf strains, shin splints, stress fractures, micro-tears, compressed metatarsal nerves, heat exhaustion and you get the picture. Actually I shouldn't say I've had every injury because I'll probably jinx myself and get the one or two I've not had during my next run. Like a labral tear. Or a pulled hamstring. At least I don't think I've every pulled a hamstring. Maybe in high school. Not sure. Those years are starting to get a little blurry.

Three of those injuries listed above hit me back-to-back-to-back during the year and a half we were trying to get pregnant. So when I finally did pee out a double line in April 2014 I was in horrible shape. I was barely running 20 miles a week and still struggling with patellar tendinitis. At that point it seemed silly (and probably unhealthy) to try to keep running during the pregnancy. So I started walking, hoping that the long, enforced time off would heal EVERYTHING.  

Lo and behold, it did! The little tyke was born in January so once the weather was nicer I started running again. And after a couple false starts (cranky knee, tweaked gluteal attachment) I'm actually running pain and ache free for the first time since January 2013. I'm still in abysmal shape and up until two days ago I hadn't run anything longer than 4 miles, but I'm getting stronger (slightly) and faster (marginally) and I'm starting (actually) to feel like a runner again. With the baby it's harder to find time and opportunity to run, though I'm getting the hang of stroller running and my husband and mom have been great about helping me fit in runs on my own. Still, it's going to be a long road back to where I want to be fitness-wise so I need all those opportunities I can get, with or without the little stink bug.

Which is why I am most unhappy to have suffered my first BABY RELATED injury. Yes, apparently this is a thing. I must have missed that chapter in my Baby 411 book. Yesterday morning, while holding the little cherub, I reached down to pick up one of his toys and felt something wrench in my mid-back. My first thought was, "Oh no, that's not good." I immediately ran for the Advil and was pleasantly surprised to not have it be much of an issue throughout the day. Until, that is, I got home from work. I only did one massage, but the necessary forward leaning appears to have been enough to really flair up whatever strained because it's mighty uncomfortable now. I probably could have run this morning, because I mostly only feel it when I bend forward, or take deep breaths. Or move. Still, the last thing I want to do is make it worse. Fingers crossed it feels better tomorrow and I'm able to start running again. With my new little coach, how could I not be anxious to get back out there? 

Watching mommy work hard is very entertaining.

I am looking forward to him being big enough to sit forward facing in the stroller so I can lose the extra weight of the carrier, but I'll miss seeing that face while I run. 

  

I remember when change was scary

Just before the start of my freshman year at the University of Michigan, while at team cross country camp, I called my mom balling my eyes out about how I wasn't ready for college. Similarly, the night before my wedding, standing in my closet trying to decide what to wear to the rehearsal dinner, I came the closest I've ever come to a full-on panic attack. But once cross country camp was over and I arrived back on campus and moved into my dorm I was completely fine, totally unflappable, and ready to take on anything the big scary university could toss my way (except, as it turned out, Econ 101). And once dressed and at the wedding rehearsal I was cool as a cucumber. I slept like a baby that night and woke up ready to marry the love of my life. Indeed, my hair stylist commented more than once that I was the calmest bride she'd ever seen.

So perhaps it's just the anticipation of change that totally freaks me out. And, to be fair, that closet panic thing happens ALL THE TIME because I have no clothes. But regardless of whether it's the change itself or just the thought of change, having a baby has cured me for life. Or maybe not. Life is a long time. But certainly for the foreseeable future, I'm all "I got this mommy stuff DOWN. What could possibly be harder than this?" Of course, he's not walking yet. He's not driving yet. Okay, now I'm starting to get scared again so let's stay in the moment.

My husband and I are currently house hunting and hoping to soon move out of the condo we've been renting. Buying a house? Big change. Even bigger when you consider that we're almost definitely moving out of the town I love (grew up here, came back after 9 post-college years in Chicago and 5 unfortunate months in Nashville). Bring it. I am also about to start a new job. I'm leaving the office I've been at for almost seven years, along with the client base I've built up over those almost seven years, in order to work closer to home (until we find a house and move away, that is). If that's not scary enough, I'll be working for a chiropractor who has never even offered massage therapy before. This is exactly the type of thing that would have me waking up panicked and obsessively stressing over. Nowadays? No sweat.

Taking care of and adjusting to a newborn was (is) the hardest thing I've ever done. At 38 years old I was used to a lot of freedom, my greatest prior responsibilities being keeping two cats alive and trying to make dinner more evenings than not. Not all that difficult. I'm sure I'll return to this theme often (the babies are hard thing, not the cat thing, but maybe the dinner thing. Well, probably the cat thing too, since that turned out to be a lot harder post-baby as one of those cats is no longer actually alive). Anyway, there's pretty much an entire blog of material packed into the first five months of my son's life. It took a lot to get me this comfortable and confident, laughing in the face of impending change, but I got there. Or maybe it's just the pills I'm still taking after tripping face first into postpartum depression and anxiety at the two month mark (definitely will be returning to that topic someday soon), but I don't think so. My son, the little 6 lb 5 oz bundle of need and reflex, was like an adorable basic training drill sergeant; he completely broke me down before building me back up. He, along with the incredible support of my husband and our families, built me up so much that I actually believe I'll have time to post regularly to this blog (along with taking care of the little tyrant, cooking those dinners, finding a house, working, training, and everything else in my suddenly very hectic life). Time will tell if that's the drugs talking.