Yet another reason why I don't have my Ph.D

About 6-7 weeks ago when I learned I was pregnant I made two simple promises to myself:

1. I would continue to exercise.
2. I would not eat like a pig and gain unnecessary weight.

So here's what I have been doing:

1. Not exercising.
2. Eating like a pig and gaining unnecessary weight.

I didn't really gain any weight the first 8 weeks of the pregnancy, which is natural and recommended (but remember, I had not developed any symptoms yet). However, the last 4 weeks have been borderline atrocious. For the most part, I basically fed at the trough and expected to gain 5-6 pounds. So when I finally, nervously worked up the courage to weigh myself a week ago and saw that somehow, I'd only gained a pound, I was euphoric!

I triumphantly pumped my fist in the air and did what any out of control pregnant woman would- I celebrated by eating. I also began crowing to anyone who would listen that my metabolism must have really kicked into high gear, and I could eat whatever I wanted. I started eating out every other meal. I began getting my own order of fries with my burgers. I ate Hawaiian barbecue 3 times a week, if not more. In fact, while at a (what else?) a buffet this weekend, I smiled and kept confidentally asking Roy to get me still more pumpkin-cranberry muffins. I was confident this was God's trade off for blocking my a** up for the last 12 weeks.

So yesterday morning I nonchalantly stepped on the scale, quite disinterested and bored *yawn*, since really, I knew what my weight would be. And then...time stopped. Because when I looked down, I saw a number four pounds heavier than the one I saw just 3-4 days ago. I think I staggered backwards, hand clutched to my heart, and nearly fell. For the rest of the day I pouted, railed against the Gods for their sick, sick cruelty, sulked at work, drove recklessly, cursed.

Because I knew the truth- my feeding frenzy had finally caught up with me. So I sit here today, humbly chastised, still a bit peeved...but determined to get back on track. It will be hard. But juuuust in case that doesn't work out so well (and lets face it, even under the best of circumstances, I eat like a horse), I have a back up plan that my brother Joseph brilliantly suggested - which is to get...tapeworm!

That outta take a few pounds off real quick! I'm quite excited about it. Only I'm still not quite sure how to get them...do I dig in a boggy marsh? eat roadkill? mail order? And once I do find some, rather than digesting them internally and leaving it to chance where they end up (I'd rather they focus on my batwings, for example, rather than say, my liver), can I selectively insert them into certain problem areas (like my inner thighs)? I'm hoping it works that way.

Roy lies!!!

Sorry for the lack of posts lately. Though a few people have asked, it's not because we've been evacuated by the fires (although it is very, very smoky). I've just been so tired recently (yeah...because of the blueberry) that it's so hard to turn on the computer once I get home each day. And it doesn't help that when I asked Roy the other night if he might be willing to share in the joy of pregnancy with me, that he said no.

Which honestly, is just as well. Because if that poor, sweet man had said yes...I would have gleefully pounced on him and asked that he immediately cease making any #2's until further notice, start spinning around in circles like a happy hippie on speed until he felt like puking, clamped little one-pound weights from each of his nipples and then twisted/pinched them until they became red and enflamed, placed about four nickles and ten dimes in his mouth (so he could enjoy the wonderful metallic taste I get to all day long), taped his eyes wide open and blown a fan into them until they dried out, swaddled him up in three blankets so he could feel hot/sweaty all day, rubbed Crisco or butter on his face so that he would break out, and then slipped a roofie in his milk each morning before sending his now drowsy, exhausted body off to work each day with a smile and a pat on the a**.

So much for going through this pregnancy 'together' like he said we would. I've also already gained more than a few pounds and of course, he has not. Skinny little bastard. And before I forget, here's my favorite photo from Long Beach. Of the ten or so photos available, it's the *only one* (tee hee) where my thighs don't look chubby, my bangs don't look particularly rice-bowl dorky, and my eyes don't look that puffy. Plus it's on the beach. Which looks super cool. I'd love to order the pic, but it would violate the Cheap Hippie Creed of Conduct I took as a very overly anal retentive, money-conscious, unhealthily tight-fisted 7-year old. And who wants to change such a winning personality trait?

Now what?

I spent last weekend in Long Beach for the race, and I just returned from spending three more days there for work. I have decided that like many cities, there are two parts to Long Beach- pretty, touristy Long Beach, and scary, ghetto Long Beach. I saw both, with the latter one by accident. Let's just say that I visited my first McDonald's that had no less than ten rules posted at the front door that all patrons were told they must abide by, i.e. - no eating for longer than 30 minutes, no cursing, no fighting, etc. What a bummer. Who wants to go to Mickey D's if you can't drop a few f-bombs and pick a fight with other kids?

But I digress.

I have found myself for the first time in a year, not training for a marathon. I realized this when I was in Long Beach and not frantically pulling my shoes on at 6am trying to sneak a run in on the beach before my conference. I realized this when I made weekend plans and realized I didn't have to schedule everything around a long run. I realized this when I remembered that for the first time in over 9 months, I can go to spin class today after work (and not have to rest my legs for the long run).

I'm equal parts lost/sad and elated by this. For a year I've defined much of my existence around being a runner. I suppose the next few weeks will be spent slowly rediscovering old loves (hiking, spinning, walking) and figuring out the next frontier.

I've read that there is often a post-marathon depression (now what?), and while I don't think it's that, there is definitely a need to set new goals so I don't feed at the trough all day (like I did over the past three days days in Long Beach. Goddamn that work expense account)!

Snoop D-O-double G would be proud...

Well slap my a** and call me Susie!

Because we did it. We did Long Beach! And honestly- I was shocked. Though a tiny part of me thought I might be able to pull it off, I'd honestly prepared myself that I wouldn't (I was just waaay too tired, nervous and scared to think I could).

Before I launch into recounting my personal views/experience of the race, let me say that Roy did great. Though he admitted the distance kicked him in the a**, he himself kicked serious butt in the walking division. Because he started 75 min. before me, he was right there for me at the finish line. So yes (grab your vomit bags), we did a marathon together! And it was wonderful to be able to share that experience, even though we technically never saw each other once throughout! In fact, I got teary-eyed only once during the entire race, and that was when I watched him start. He just looked so determined, so focused...that I couldn't have been prouder. That's my baby daddy!

The breakdown:

This was a very, very different race experience from San Diego. In San Diego, I recall being so pumped up from all the adrenaline and cheering spectators that I didn't even feel like I was running until around mile 13. However, once I hit mile 18-19, I gradually hit the wall and was as close to miserable as one could be from miles 22 - 26 until I finished. Once I was done though, I had a surge of post-run euphoria that lasted most of the afternoon and well into the evening. I wouldn't stop talking about doing another one.

In comparison, there was never an adrenaline rush in Long Beach. I was pretty tired from mile 4 and felt every single mile. And everytime I felt tired or my heart rate start to increase, I slowed down even more. Although I felt pretty lethargic from the first step, I can't say that I ever felt downright crappy (or I would have stopped) or in any danger.

The one pleasant surprise of the day was that because of my considerably slower, consistent pace- I never felt as dramatic a decline as I did in San Diego, which gave me a far greater feeling of 'control' over this race. Whereas I felt San Diego controlled me from miles 20-26, I felt like I was more in control of Long Beach. Which is not to say I didn't feel completely wiped out the last 6 miles, because I did. Oh I did. But I had considerably more confidence and a lot less doubt/negative self talk. I knew if I just kept plodding, I'd finish.

Once I did finish though, my euphoria was short lived. It lasted the last 200 yards to the finish line, and abruptly stopped once I crossed it. From that point on, momma was done. Physically, emotionally...done. Wiped out. I could barely smile. I laid down most of the way home, and once we got home, I showered and laid down in bed for the next 4-5 hours without saying much other than to moan "I feel sick" or "Help me, I think I'm dying" (note: most of this 'sickness' is the after effects of sunburn...my face was on fire, which made me feel like I had a temperature, and because I was also achy/sore, I felt like I had the flu).

So how'd I do? Though I'd initially hoped to break 4:30 (and shave 6 minutes off San Diego) by upping my training regimine, I hadn't planned on running with the blueberry (who was very, very good by the way). So I'm extremely pleased to report that I finished in 4:55!!! About 20 min. slower than San Diego.

Highlights:

• The course had more loops and twists than any other course I've ever run before. But the best part was the 3-4 miles along the boardwalk on the white, sandy beach. Simply amazing.
• There were A LOT of water stations and porta potties. Because of the pregnancy, Momma had to stop and use the the bathroom THREE times yesterday (in all my other races combined, I've used it once), but never had to wait for very long to use them.
• The marathon field was tiny. Though we started off with all the half marathoners and it felt like there were about 6-7,000 of us, once we split off, there were only about 2,150 marathoners. Though there's a certain energy to running with 16,000 others like I did in San Diego, there's also a certain initmacy and level of peacefulness running with only a few thousand people. Like more water and porta potties for me.

Lowlights:

• About the only disappoint I had is that there was no Solutions Desk on race day. In fact, it's the ONLY race I've ever been in that did not have a Solutions Desk. We spent nearly 30 frantic minutes trying to find someone who could help us with a simple timing chip issue. And we were apparently not the only ones who were panicked and looking for help. Note to organizers: you need one. Stat.

Final Summary:

I can't believe I was able to do Long Beach. But I take no credit. Really, it was God's decision. I did the training, but all the training in the world wouldn't have gotten me through that race if it wasn't meant to be.

I feel complete. I wanted to do the first marathon just to see if I could. It was wild, crazy dream, and I did it. And then I wanted to see if I could do another one, just to prove the first one wasn't a fluke, and to see if I could break the 4:30 time barrier. Even though I didn't do that, I feel like I did something even cooler- I ran while pregnant. Man, that's pretty bad a**...especially for someone like me, who 3 years ago was 50 pounds overweight, depressed and couldn't even run 200 yards without having to stop. Now that I've got two marathons under my belt, I actually feel like a real runner.

At this point, I have no immediate plans/goal to run another marathon. Right now, it's not the burning, burning fire in the belly it was 6 months ago, or even 6 days ago. I set out to prove a few things to myself, and I did them. Right now, my only firm plans are to return to running the distance I fell in love with and do best- the half marathon. It's long enough to still be extremely challenging, and a lot less time consuming/damaging to your body.

I'm also excited to think that for the first time in about a year, my Saturday morning will be mine again!!! No more long runs for awhile! I'll still do regular runs each week for as long as I can, but gone are the 10 and 15 milers for now. Momma gets too tired doing those nowadays.

So to everyone who regularly kept track of my exploits and cheered me on- thank you. Thank you for having faith in me, for tolerating my obsessive, manic behavior, and for making me feel cared about and loved.

Bitter Nation

Whew. Just read the last few posts and man, oh man. Do I sound like one bitter hag! Much as I want to flog anyone who says "Oh it's just hormones," I almost hope it is!

I mean, I did have a rough week (I started getting tired and nauseous and it pissed me off/panicked me), but I have felt a lot better the last three days. Less overeating. And definitely more optimistic. I'm hoping this new infusion of She-Ra...Princess of Power attitude carries over to Sunday when the bluberry and I run the race. Because if I haven't mentioned it, we're definitely running it. You see, the blueberry and I had a talk. And here's how it went-

Josie: Hi there, blueberry! Listen, I'm really hoping to do a big race this Sunday...and it's very, very important to me, so if it's at all possible, I'm hoping you can keep all hormone production to a minimum. 'Cause momma needs all that energy instead.

Blueberry: Gah. Bwa gugle puff.

Josie: Oh don't worry, I promise we'll both go eat plenty of pizza afterwards.

Blueberry: Peeky poo foof ya tortilla chips?

Josie: Oh yes, and tortilla chips too! So we have a deal, then? We're good for all 26.2? You won't make me puke or drop out?

Blueberry: Puyi gooky ba!!!!

Josie: Sweet! I won't forget this!!!

So you see...we're good. I got everything cleared away. The blueberry and I are running! Stay tuned!

A day late and two miles short...but done!

So after spending much of last week and half the weekend curled up into the fetal position and feeling sorry for myself, I felt much better (dare I say 'almost normal'?) on Monday & Tuesday. In fact, I even made up my final long run on Monday (hence the title) and felt great while doing it. Other than two more very short runs this week, I have officially completed my training program...so yes, hope has surged once again for this Sunday!

Though I am filled with hope, I still have no goals. What happenned at last weekend's Chicago Marathon and the Army Ten-Miler was definitely a sobering reminder that pre-existing medical conditions or not, the marathon is not a distance to be taken lightly. I've personally seen over a half dozen runners in both half-marathons and full marathons collapse. It's always scary seeing their glazed eyes roll back in their head as they're carried off the course. Trust me, it will be in the forefront of my mind that people do routinely pass out, vomit, cramp up, collapse drop out or become very, very ill during the marathon, so if I notice my pulse racing or feel light headed at any point and have to walk off the course, it's (ugh) what I'll do. Part of me knows that I'm waaaaay too stubborn to quit once I start, so there's a good chance I may not even take a single step if something doesn't feel 'right' (i.e. - I'm already exhausted before I even start).

In other world news- we're still reeling from our most recent prenatal exam. This is because our fill in OB nurse was a complete freak show. She was not your stereotypical old battleax Nurse Ratchet...far from it. In fact, she was quite friendly and warm. Her problem was that she had what we like to call good old-fashioned diarrhea of the mouth. In the course of about four minutes, we heard her entire life story, knew her hourly income to the penny and the detailed medical condition of one of her coworkers.

Once our shell-shocked bodies left her office about an hour later, I confessed to Roy that it was the closest I'd come to physically leaping across a desk, choking a medical professional with my bare hands and pouring my still-warm, urine sample over her head. His response was that I would have had to have torn him off her body first.

Among her many insults? Oh gosh. Well she made fun of a pre-existing medical condition I had by practically giggling when she saw it, then turned red-faced and tried to cover it up by saying "Ah, it's no big deal!" when she saw our stunned, stone faces.

Then she showed me a list of about 2 dozen foods I should avoid, skipping past all of them but one. For that one item, though, she made a big point of speaking very loudly and slowly to me (because a my English is not a so good, ah?!)- "NO SUSHI. Okay? NO. SUSHI." And then she exaggeratedly shook her head back and forth juuuuust in case I didn't catch that. Ignorant f**kweed.

But the final insult was showing me a flyer that advertised a low-income food program I might qualify for (which was not at all insulting). What was offensive, however, was when she looked up at Roy, abruptly announced "Oh wait! Your husband is a nurse! Forget that! Ha ha! You won't qualify now!" You...mutha...effa. Because of course, ALL women ALWAYS make less then their menfolk, right? I know this one seems like I'm being hypersensitive. But ever since Roy joined the medical profession as a nurse (and yes, there is a shortage, so yes, wages are fairly good even when starting out), I've had about a half dozen people make comments to me (often with Roy right next to me) along the lines of, "Wow! Nurses make bank! You better not let that one go!" or "Aren't you a lucky girl?!! I bet you're happy now!" This tells me that they all assume he's the breadwinner, which is a terrible gender stereotype to make nowadays. I don't care who makes more in a relationship (I think there's tremendous pride to be had for both males or females when they can provide for their families), but I resent the decades-old assumption(s) and the insensitive comments that only serve to perpetuate the myth that women's roles (whether in the workplace or at home) are secondary in importance to those of men. Note to Nurse Diarrhea Mouth- don't mess with blueberry's momma, cause if momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy!!! :-(

Blech

Yeah...so much for the symptom free pregnancy!

I just spent all of last week and much of this weekend either curled up in bed or feeling like I had the flu- pukey and exhausted.

I also ran a grand total of oh...NO miles this weekend. Because my workouts have taken a dramatic downward turn (and I'm feeding my face to cope), it looks like I ate a baby rather than like I'm growing one. Psychologically, I'm okay. Just tired and a bit scattered. Going to work takes more energy than I have right now.

Long Beach is next weekend, but it's fading fast...

Teach me, universe...

What I learned at our second prenatal visit today:

1. Because our nurse practitioner has a brand new ultrasound machine, we were thrilled to be able to see much more detailed images of the baby. Unfortunately, what these remarkable images have revealed is that it appears as though I have procreated with either Elmer Fudd or Winnie the Pooh. The blueberry has a HUGE head, and while it's cute and adorable now, I'm not sure my vaginal canal and cervix will find it quite so amusing in 7 months.

2. Be very careful with your urine sample. Never turn your back on it. Even to flush. Because what could happen is that you might jostle the cart holding your urine, causing some of it slosh out of the flimsy paper cup onto the absorbent blue pad. And should that happen to be the only absorbent blue pad in the restroom, you might have to creatively position a spare toilet paper roll over it to cover the little wet spot from your nurse practitioner (hypothetically speaking, of course).

3. If one was too dumb to be able to see those 3D images in puzzles that were all the rage back in the mid-90s, then there is a fair to middlin' chance that that same dumb individual might also be unable to see the image of their own child on an ultrasound in which three other people in the room can clearly see (thankfully, no one but Roy noticed the one-second time delay between their excited gasps and my own whenever the baby moved an arm or leg).

Screeech!

Okay, I know I'm supposed to listen to my body. And I've been trying. But when I listen intently, all I hear is "You too tired to exercise" and "Eat more ice cream."

Case in point- two weeks ago I did a 20-miler and felt great. I felt so pumped up that I didn't even take my first shot bloks until mile 7-8. Because I forced myself to slow down to a 12-min. mile pace (to keep my heart rate down), I felt like I could easily have run another couple of miles afterwards.

But Saturday's 20-miler? Umm, not so hot. Though I'd had a good night's sleep, a hearty carb-filled diet the day before and nearly a week's rest (I got sick when we were up in Big Bear)- by mile 4, I noticed I was kinda dragging a**. I forced myself to wait until mile 6 to take my first shot bloks, and though they gave me some kick for the next 4-5 miles, by mile 13 I was completely spent again and popped the other three. I even had to take a 5-minute walk break to let them kick in, but from miles 13-18, it was painfully slow and tedious. I ended walking in mile 19 and forgoing mile 20 entirely. Listening to your body might be the right thing to do, but it sure makes you feel like a pu**y. For 9 months it's been all about longer, harder, faster* runs so having to suddenly throttle back is much easier said than done.

(*Tee hee...we all know that last one is a lie)

In my heart of hearts, I probably should have stopped around mile 5, turned around, and walked back home. But I didn't. Even though I said I would. And I paid the price. I pretty much laid in bed and felt like I had a mild grade fever/flu for the rest of the day. As I laid there, I swore I would do a better job of listening to my body. But honestly, sometimes it's hard to gauge.

Because if I had my druthers, everyday around 2-3pm I'd bid everyone at work a fond adieu, hop into my car, drive home, lay down on the sofa with some chips and tater tots, eat them all, and then fall asleep watching Desperate Housewives. Screw working out. But since I know I can't do that, I've tried to do this instead- I've cut back on the two-hour power workouts. I've lightened the weights. I've cut back on the running. I've slowed down the running. At least I thought that's what I was doing on Saturday...because I never let my breathing get labored, I never let my muscles get near the point of exhaustion, and when I started to feel really tired- I stopped my run two miles early. But I guess it still wasn't/isn't enough.

So Saturday definitely presents a new element/concern for Long Beach. Thankfully, it was my last long run, so I'm already tapering. But I still really won't know what to do until that day. In my black-white extreme way of thinking- anything less than running the entire thing won't count. Which is horribly depressing. Inland Empire Marathon. Los Angeles Marathon. They keep scrolling in my head. Almost taunting me. I wanted to ratchet one more victory up there alongside San Diego Rock N Roll so my ratio would at least be 2:2.

I had hoped this would be a hilarious account of the discoveries and changes to my body thus far. You know- Ack! What's that hanging out of my a**?! But you know, these past few weeks, I just haven't been feeling it. I'm bummed about Long Beach, I'm bummed about leaving a very rewarding career in 7 months and losing all my benefits, I'm bummed about having to buy a new car, I'm bummed about not being able to run, I'm bummed that I'm more stopped up than the 60/215 interchange at 7am...blah blah blah. This doesn't mean I'm not happy and grateful for the blueberry. I am. I really am. It's just...an adjustment.