Wow, it’s only the last day of February and so far 2019 has already been rough! Husband has been ill a couple of times, baby has been ill for the first time (and that was really tough!) She’s also cut no less than 6 teeth all at once, and learned the art of the temper tantrum and then there was me, fracturing my elbow and also being ill myself 3 times since the beginning of the year!
All of this has lead to some very inconsistent training on my part, not what I really wanted 3 months out from the London Marathon! I tried to get running as soon as I could after my elbow fracture, and truth be told it was before I was given the go ahead from the hospital, but it felt OK and I took it easy, but with cold after cold hitting me, running has been hard going and sometimes the very last thing I wanted to be doing! We also went on a 10 night all inclusive holiday, not a bad thing in itself at all, but bad for diet and training that’s for sure (plus that’s when cold number 2 took hold!)
So beginning(ish) of February, once I was home from my holiday, I really had to work at getting back to my training plan. I re-wrote parts of it, having to increase the mileage more steeply than I had originally wanted, and my god it’s felt like hard work!
I was out on one of my mid-week runs, on a route I’ve probably run hundreds of times by now, round the park. 6km from door to door, abut 90m of elevation, not a particularly tough run and I felt like I was struggling. I had to keep stopping to walk, running the hills felt laughable and it felt like I was running through treacle at a snails pace, and I thought to myself “God, it feels like I’m back at square one, AGAIN! How many times have I had to start again now?” and that’s when it hit me, this was great! Seriously, how many times HAVE I been back at square one? Loads! When I’ve just lost my way a bit, eaten too much, drank to much. When I was so stressed I left my job, when I had my miscarriage, when I hurt my knee, ankle, ankle again, when I got pregnant, after having the baby, now after my elbow fracture…. I could go on and on, and what, despite all of this, do I never, ever do? Give up! It occurred to me that being back at square one means one thing only. I. DON’T. QUIT!
Who actually cares, other than myself, if I can’t run as fast as I once could, or I can’t lift such a heavy weight anymore? What does it really matter? What matter’s is that I am still out there, still working hard to achieve my goals. Is a 5 hour or a 6 hour marathon any less of an achievement really than a 4 hour one? To someone like me I mean, someone who is not a natural athlete, not looking to win anything, just wanting to push myself out of my comfort zone, do something good for myself, maybe make some people proud of me, hopefully raise some money for my charity (The Royal Marsden – sponsor me here! ) It honestly doesn’t matter how fast I reach the finish line, what matters is that I will make it there!
I ran probably my slowest ever non pregnant half marathon the other week and it really took it’s toll having not built up to it, it honestly made me wonder if I do have a marathon in me, but the next week i went out for a 14 mile training run and with better fuelling it felt miles better despite being just as slow (much more hilly though!) and next weekend i’ll be trying for 16 miles. After that it’s the big one (well before the actual big one that is!) The Lydd 20 mile race. If I can get that right it will be a much needed confidence boost. Then it’s a slow taper back down, Hastings Half marathon, some 10 mile training runs and then it’ll be time for the main event. London! It’s starting to come round very quickly now. 8 and a half weeks to go….
I have been planning to do a blog update for a while now, but I wasn’t planning it to be this! I was planning to write a “Training for the London Marathon with a Baby” type post, talking about how it’s going so far and what I’m planning on doing next, the internal battle I had with myself before deciding whether to ask for sponsorship or not and a few quips about motherhood 7 months in and I’m sure I’ll still cover some of that, but January 1st blew all of this out of the water. My training is stalled, I can’t look after my baby without help, and at the moment everything is far from rosy, all because of a lousy, but quite spectacular, trip over a poxy speed bump!!
So there I was, cruising through my marathon training plan that I had carefully written in snatched moments when my daughter was happy to let me put her down to play, I had lined up races, planned rest weeks and carefully considered how gently to up my mileage. I started it in October and had by and large stuck to what it said. I had re-started Weight Watchers and my weight was slowly coming off, I was back down to my pre-baby weight, although my body was nowhere near back to how it was before, and I was up to about 10miles at a time in distance. I had a good scheduled that allowed me to get out and train around Baby S and her needs. It wasn’t easy, but it was working!
Over December my Personal Trainer went on holiday and I cut myself some slack. I still did my 3 weekly runs (mostly) but that was it, and I indulged in a festive mince pie or two, and a few Christmas beverages but I figured in January and beyond I’d be hitting it hard, back on the healthy eating bandwagon and hitting the training with renewed vigour, London would only be a few months away…
So on the 1st of January, after a relatively tame New Years Eve, I lined up to run the Lamberhurst 10k beside my husband, who had the baby in the running buggy, and off we went, ready to kick start the new year in a healthy way. It’s hilly, Lamberhurst, but after getting up the first couple of KM I was starting to get into my stride, picked up my pace a bit, mind wandering, wishing I’d remembered to actually download my Spotify running playlist as there wasn’t enough signal to stream it, and I still hadn’t been able to try out my new headphones I got for Christmas when suddenly I wasn’t running any more, I was on the floor surrounded by people telling me to breath, and everything hurt! It took a few more seconds for me to realise that I would be pulling out of the race and not carrying on, another few to realise I couldn’t stand up and probably a full minute before I realised I couldn’t move my left arm properly.
My husband happened to come back past me just after the fall so stopped also, and eventually the medics arrived after having to navigate their car through the runners. I was looked at, picked up, a bandage put on my arm, then driven back down to the start where I was advised to go to A&E. By now the pain is catching up with me, i’m in shock and my daughter is crying causing me massive distress. I could barely even touch her with my hands bleeding everywhere to help calm her down. Hubby drove me to the hospital and left me there to go and feed the baby – I couldn’t do it – what were we going to do?!
The people in A&E were fab, it didn’t seem like I was waiting around, but the news wasn’t good, my left elbow was fractured, which would be problematic enough without my right hand side also being bruised with cuts across my whole hand and elbow. I basically had very minimal use of either hand!
Now a few days on I am left having to ask people to come and look after me and the baby while hubby is at work as I’m unable to look after her by myself, my cuts are healing slowly which will help and I’m using my left arm as much as I’m able trying to get movement back. I’ve been to the fracture clinic but have to go back in a few weeks to be re-xrayed and until then I’m not supposed to do exercise. Not the start to the year I was hoping for!
Now as I laid in bed in the early hours of this morning, having just got the baby back to sleep (thankfully I’ve cracked being able to breastfeed despite my injuries) I decided that I wasn’t going to let this sink me. I can hold the baby again for shot periods to at least comfort her, which was my most pressing concern after being able to feed her and I have a fantastic network of friends and family who have me covered for the next week so that leaves me with just me to worry about.
It would be so easy to fall back into my pattern of comfort eating and drinking so I’m going to make a concerted effort not to. I’ve already made a meal plan for the next week along with a shopping list to get my nutrition back on track which is especially important as I can’t do my normal amount of exercise, and my next step is going to be to look into what exercises I CAN do with limited use of my arms. I can’t afford to sit around losing fitness for the next month, I have a marathon to run!
And run it I will! I’m going to sit down and re-write my marathon training plan taking into account this unscheduled break in my training and i’ll just have to work at it twice as hard once I can run again.
I decided a while ago that I was going to do this for charity after all, as anything I can raise, even if its only a small amount, is more than they would have if I didn’t. I wouldn’t usually ask for sponsorship to run these days as its something I do all the time, but as I say on my fundraising page, this is a bit different, as its a marathon, and not only that but its a marathon I’ve got to train for after just having a baby with all the rebuilding of strength and fitness that entails, and now I’m going to try and turn this arm break into a positive and say it’s another good reason to sponsor me, as I will also have to recover from this and try and be marathon ready over a much shorter time frame!
I’m raising money for The Royal Marsden Cancer Charity again, as it very sadly keeps being a background feature of my life, treating friends and family when the dreaded disease rears it’s ugly head and you can find my fundraising page here if you feel so inclined.
I’m going to need so much help and support in the coming months to recover and get going again. It really was spectacularly bad timing, but it is what it is, and I’m determined that a little break wont be the breaking of me!
You may have read my last blog about being pregnant, you may not, but it feels a bit like the “before” piece, so at almost 3 months in now I felt like writing the first part of the story “after”.
Now my friend and I found ourselves pregnant at the same time, a due date of 3 days difference, although with my little monkey being an impatient 3 weeks early, and her’s waiting until the last minute before being evicted they actually ended up being born a little over a month apart, and what I find we say to each other a lot is “Nobody tells you that part!” so guess what, I AM going to tell you some of the bits they don’t put on the tin, the small print as it were, so don’t read on if you want to remain blissfully ignorant of some of the less joyous parts in the the joys of new motherhood!
So there I was, having a lovely Sunday, lazy morning, afternoon stroll in the park, you know the kind of thing, when BAM contractions! To be fair I had had some warning signs that the baby might not wait for another 3 weeks but 37 weeks is only just term and I was hoping she would hang on in there for another week or so at least, she, however, had other ideas and she was waiting no longer.
Now I had actually avoided looking at a lot of information about actually giving birth, I was in the “ignorance is bliss” camp. I knew she had to come out so why scare myself silly on google, so maybe they DO tell you some of this stuff, but I knew enough and that would do me. What I had expected was to be waiting around a lot but my contractions came fast and quickly got closer together, there was no waiting around, and no respite, I was just in pain, so I gulped the gas and air I was offered… and promptly puked. A lot! I mean A LOT! that was it, no more of that for me thank you very much!
My “family friendly” labour story goes like this: 6 hours after my contractions began my baby was here. I had a natural birth with no pain relief in a water bath as planned, it was all quite straightforward. Which is all true and all sounds quite lovely doesn’t it? Well, whats missing is where I couldn’t get out of my lovely water bath as every time I tried another contraction hit, sending me to my knees so I was effectively trapped in a watery prison until the whole ordeal was over, and that the reason I wanted to get out was that I would have done anything to get my hands on any kind of drug to get rid of the pain, in my head I was screaming to myself “Just cut the f**ker out of me!” although out loud I was just moaning, a lot, threatening to punch my husband in the face, and saying over and over again “I can’t do this, I can’t do this” and I genuinely didn’t feel like I could. You don’t get much choice though, you kind of have to see it through.
I’m not going to lie, worse pain ever, and I screamed, actual full on person in a badly overacted murder scene screamed, when the baby came out and far from serenely picking the baby up myself and placing her on me like i’d been told, instead I shot backwards in the water in shock that there was suddenly a baby in there with me and had to be helped by the midwifes. But then there she was, on my chest, this perfect tiny little thing, well perfect if you ignore how gross a newborn baby actually is, and it was all over, or so I thought…
What they don’t tell you is that after you’ve got the baby, your lady bits are still going to be getting a whole lot of attention! After an hour I was still showing no signs of delivering the placenta, so needed an injection which made me sick again, and it was still being stubborn, so then there was a catheter needed, and some unpleasant tugging, and then finally it was out, but I still wasn’t done as I was then informed that i would be needing stitches… the only thing that got me through was cuddling my new baby girl.
After what felt like several millennia, a pain suppository was shoved up the back end and we were done, my vag could rest in pieces and I could get a much needed shower and have a slice of toast before being escorted onto the hospital ward, where, due to it being the early hours of the morning by now, my husband was sent packing and I was effectively left abandoned with no idea how to even switch off the lamp, or which button to press to call someone and show me. Thus began my first sleepless night!
I decided to breast feed my baby, and here’s the next thing they don’t really tell you. It’s. Not. Easy! Getting baby latched right is hard, and it can hurt like hell until you get it sussed. Sometimes I still think we struggle 11 weeks in! It’s also frigging exhausting! Newborns need to feed about every two hours… do they heck, try every 15mins or 30mins, or cluster-feeding all evening long for hours until your nipples feel like they want to drop off! Now I don’t regret my choice for a second, but you can read all about what a wonderful bonding experience and how good it is for babies, not to mention cheep (if you don’t count the increased cost of snacks for mum!) and convenient elsewhere. And then there is the night feeds. Yes you expect them, but I underestimated just how tired I would be, and never even considered that I would be in pain from giving birth. Just moving on the bed to get the baby from her basket and in place was hard, I was struggling to move myself and I had to look after a baby. It felt like I would never get better and I wondered how the human race has survived… why on earth would anybody do this more than once? It does get easier though, once the pain does start to ease and I now have a baby who sleeps well at night, I’m just waiting for the 4 month sleep regression to hit and rob me of my smugness… i’ll enjoy this while it lasts!
The next thing I don’t think I fully grasped was how lonely maternity leave can be. Husband back at work before you really know which way is up, still in some pain and now in charge if a baby BY MYSELF! The flurry of visitors has slowed down to a slow trickle and getting out of the house feels impossible with a baby that wants to feed every 10 mins and will scream in the buggy if she’s not calm to begin with! It took a while for me to brave feeding outside my own home, and I always had someone with me when I’d needed to, ( I mean, are you even really my friend by now if you haven’t seen my boobs!) but I only fed her outside on my own in the last few days, at 11 weeks. I still feel deeply uncomfortable and a bit awkward, despite so far having no negative experiences, it’s by far more a personal body image problem than me worrying about what anyone else thinks of me actually nursing.
Most of the time these days I have a happy smiling little baby, other than when she wants feeding/changing/is bored/is tired, but sometimes despite my best efforts, I can’t work out whats wrong, shes crying, wants to feed constantly and wont be put down. I’m stuck at home alone, in my pyjamas as I’ve had no chance to get myself dressed, the baby’s unhappy and i’m unhappy because the baby is unhappy and we both end up in tears. Many times I’ve just sat and cried and felt so alone. Where do you even go with a baby? It’s a mission just to “pop out for a walk” especially when your flat has weird doors so the buggy has to be dissembled every time you want to take it in or out and carried down the garden stairs in two trips. Add a screaming baby to that and you’re effectively under house arrest some days with nothing to do but await the arrival home of your husband so you can hand the baby over to someone else for 5 seconds until she inevitably wants feeding again. On these dark days you can find yourself wondering, is it really worth it? Was it really worth wrecking my body, giving up my carefree and beautifully selfish existence for? What have I done?
Talking of my wrecked body, to start with I found I didn’t much care, after-all I had kept fit throughout my pregnancy and the first lot of baby weight did melt away and I figured once I got the all clear at 6 weeks and could exercise again I could tackle the rest of the weight and start getting some tone back, get rid of the mum tum etcetera, but on the day of my 6 week check we had one of those “dark days” and everything went wrong and it took another week for me to attempt a run. It didn’t go too well, but that was OK, I knew it would take a while, no rush… but now 11 weeks in and all I’ve managed is 3 runs and one circuit class, mostly due to a new and vastly deteriorated bad back. In the mornings I can struggle to get out of bed and lift the baby out of her cot, so exercise is out of the question on these days, it tends to ease through the day though before getting bad again in the evening. I’m starting to feel very unfit, and since breastfeeding leaves me starving and a baby keeps me busy,i’m not eating all that well and yeah, i’m starting to really care, and hate on my stupid mum tum and huge saggy boobs! (And if anyone dares to “remind” me that my body just created a miracle or similar, I suspect they will be told to F-Off!) I now have a plan in place with my trainer to rebuild some strength before starting marathon training, after all London is just 8 months away and it’s currently a struggle to run 3 miles, and 26 seems insurmountable at the moment!) so hopefully I can get a handle on this.
I ran throughout my pregnancy and when I was pregnant I thought that once I could run again afterwards I would feel so light and It would be great, but I didn’t factor in the breastfeeding boobs. Oh. My. God. They bounce, it hurts! They are huge. It’s uncomfortable! I spent a considerable amount of my first two runs just holding those puppies down, and have now bought myself a boobudy (formerly known as a booband) to see if that will help tame the girls. So far it seems to work OK, but I’ve not tested it at any kind of decent pace yet.
So back to my Is it worth it? question. Even on the “Dark Days” I’ll look into her beautiful blue eyes, and she’ll give me a gummy smile (wait, surely not, my 11 week old baby cannot be cutting her first teeth already?!) and I just know that I will fiercely love this tiny being until the end of time and the only answer to that question is yes. Yes its hard work, but it is totally 100% worth it!
And finally, to those people who want to know when baby number two is coming along I say this: Why on earth would you ask someone who has just given birth this question? Seriously? I’ve been asked so many times! Another one? Another one? How much do you think you would want another baby when you’ve only just started to recover from pushing anything up to around 10 pounds worth of flesh and bones out of a tiny opening?! (Thankfully S was only 6lb13) Have another one? I’d rather have my tubes tied and my uterus removed thank you very much! Don’t ask someone with a new baby this. Actually don’t ask anyone this! I’m just going to enjoy this one thanks… oh she’s crying again… grrrrrrrrate 😉