Fit Mama: My first post-pregnancy run

As you may know, after chronicling my Fit Pregnancy, I recently gave birth to a bouncing baby boy. After a short break to get to know my son and get my world back in order, I'm now on the road to being a Fit Mama.

I finally got clearance from my OBGYNs to start exercising again last Monday. Generally, most women are free to being exercise around six weeks after delivery, granted they are in good health. After getting the thumbs up for light to moderate exercise at my 6-week post pardum appointment, I foolishly assumed I'd find time Monday afternoon or Tuesday morning to go for a run. I finally managed to get out the door Friday morning. It may have been the most difficult thing I've done as a new mother. Well, not difficult, just...complicated.

First of all, I am breastfeeding, exclusively. This means my boobs are always full of milk. You may not know this, but the more you pump (and feed) the more milk you make. It's a never-ending cycle. So I had to make sure I both fed the baby and pumped that morning before attempting to stuff myself into my one larger sports bra. This meant I was up at 4:30 AM, when the baby normally wants his breakfast.

Feeding him was the easy part; much harder was the time it took to sterilize the equipment and actually get pumping. This task was accomplished, however, in record time, by approximately 5:00AM. I'm providing a timeline here because my husband was helpfully watching the baby and I wanted to see just how long this whole process was going to take from waking to post-workout shower in order to gauge whether or not it would even work.

After getting my boobs in order I had to get myself dressed. Thankfully I retained a pair of over-sized cotton running shorts which when wearing my husband refuses to be seen with me. I noted the swish swish of the extra fabric asap, indicating that my thighs were heavier than before. Regardless of how I felt or looked, they fit, and on they stayed.

Then I stretched. It had been so long since I'd been able to incorporate all my favorite moves I'd forgotten half of them! I also couldn't remember the order I favored so I just started at the top and worked my way down. Does it hurt to admit that the stretching seemed to take forever and that I was tired when I finished? Yes. Yes, it does.

I did some sit-ups--the bicycle kind--which were the first real sit-ups I'd done in nearly a year. Wow. And they hurt. Sigh. Then I did two sets of twenty push-ups. This made no sense to me because up until a few weeks before delivery I was still doing 40-50 push-ups at a time--and I was 30-ish pounds heavier than normal! Now I've got twenty to go and I can barely hold myself up. I think it's more feeling rusty than anything. Regardless, I still did the sit-ups and push-ups, and that's what counts.

Then I went for a run. It was odd, as I haven't been running by myself in years. I always ran with my husband which was extremely enjoyable to me. I looked forward to those runs more than any other social event! Now I was back to doing things the old way, by myself. It was sort of nice.

I'd fed the baby at 4:30 AM (yes, that's right! 4:30AM!!!) and was out the door by just after 6:00AM so I pretty much had the park all to myself, which is the way I like it. Everything was quiet and a little dark, but not so dark as to be unsafe. And there were others running and walking, they were just lost in themselves, as I soon became.

I ran one and a half miles. The first section, which was downhill, hurt my chest more than anything ever has. I wasn't at all sure I was going to make it. But I did. Turned out it was just that rusty feeling again. My lungs and legs, a runner's best friends and also worst enemies, made me feel like I was running the last two miles of a marathon, not the first 1/4 mile of a nice jog. Then, too, that feeling gave way.

Oddly, I settled right back into a rhythm. Sure, it was slower than normal, although I didn't time myself, and sure it was punctuated by me constantly tugging down my shorts as they crept up the middle of my legs, but it was there. I also had some pumping music to get me moving. (My iPod nano may weigh less than a feather and fit nicely into my pocket but, sadly, it's not much of a conversationalist.)

At the near end of the run an amazing thing happened. No, I didn't miraculously achieve my pre-pregnancy level of fitness (although that would've been nice), nor did I blow out a calf muscle or something that would shelf me for another few months.

I stopped. The torture was over. And it felt pretty darned good. While the run itself hadn't exactly been ecstasy, I noted as I crossed the street back to my house that I wasn't even remotely winded. I'd recovered so quickly it was almost as if I hadn't run at all. Quick recovery is something I've always read about in running journals, something I've always kept in mind. The idea is that the shorter time it takes you to recover, the better shape you're in, or something to that effect. I know I'd only run one and a half miles or so, but outside of labor it was the most work I'd done in the last year. Seriously.

As I made my way back I thought about my son. I thought, I am out here, alone. My baby is waiting at home for me. It was an even more amazing feeling. I'd been alone but not lonely, and at the end of my run I had not only the satisfaction of a great workout (yes, I did break a sweat) but also the knowledge that the best thing in the whole wide world was waiting at home for me. If that's not victory then I don't know what is.