- Miles run: 0
- Miles walked: less than 15
- Hours spent doing prenatal yoga: less than 5
- Babies delivered: 0
And yet. Here I am in mid-March--Still. Pregnant. (Happily though, it sounds like the finish line is in sight this week.)
That said, and the fact that this blog is meant to be about my running (egomaniacal, I know), just because I can't run myself doesn't mean that I'm not enjoying seeing everyone else out running.
New England's heavy snow is all but gone now, with only small piles leaving dirty traces here and there in shaded areas and alleys. And true to form, the fair-weather runners have emerged from their apartment lairs, pale-skinned and athletically appareled, peeking out of their doorways and gyms like so many wan, sun-starved gypsies on the lam from their holiday over-indulgences. I see them lurching around the river, up the side streets near my house, and I want to do as I've done every year at this time--mutter too loudly about their fair-weather selves, all while mentally congratulating myself for my myriad cold miles over snow, sleet, and salt-covered roads and sidewalks.
But this year, I can't. I ran a handful of miles up to and just after Christmas, and since then have hibernated in my toasty Medford cave. Instead of adding on miles, I've added on pounds, and instead of sashaying about feeling svelte in my running tights, I've waddled around in increasingly large maternity pants.
While I imagine this reads a bit like a whine, and at least in part it is that, I'm actually not terribly bummed about what I'm going to call my "lost winter of running." There are many miles to come, some of which I imagine I'll be pushing a stroller through. (If only you could stand on the back of the stroller on the downhills, as if a middle-schooler on a grocery cart.) There are medals and t-shirts to be collected, assorted shoe company coupons to be discarded, free energy gels to consume, and miles to be explored on new, and hopefully fast courses. There are many races yet to come, and countless finish lines yet to cross.
Added to that, the summer looms ahead of me in breathless anticipation--if I close my eyes, I swear I can feel the sun's heat on a long trail run, or the heavy rasp in my lungs upon reaching the top of a too-steep hill. I can feel the gloppiness of an overheated Gu sliding down my sweaty throat, and taste the post-run Gatorade, too warm from being in the sun, but refreshing all the same. I can fell that familiar ache in the backs of my legs and knees--the one that tells me it's been a good run, one that my very bones were craving.
Until then, though, I'll be focusing on my next event, even though it doesn't require any actual running...and keeping in mind that it wouldn't be any fun if all races were the same anyway.
Wish my beloved and I well, as we usher another runner into the fold and onto the road..