It's been a long time that my body's been on loan. I love my little peanut ferociously, but that doesn't mean I am always feeling content with this body sharing situation. Like last night when I woke up to pee and was then kept awake because peanut decided to throw a party inside of me for an hour and a half. Of course, I was awake laughing because it felt so deliciously fun, but in the back of my mind I knew I'd be dragging today. And I am.
I have to pat myself on the back a bit. I was so willing to make this sacrifice for peanut, even before he was conceived. I voluntarily cut my running way back, gained the weight, slowed way down, and slept my free time away. I will continue to do all these things and gladly. But sometime last week, probably at the race, I really started to miss the good old days when I got to line up in front and push my body hard.
Today at lunch I went out with my buddies. We ran up from my office (they are so sweet they come and pick me up!) and to the track. D and I were there to keep E company while she did an 800 meter time trial. I ran the opposite direction in the outside pokey lane and watched as the two of them did 200 meter strides in the warm-up. And then I positioned myself at the start/finish to time. E went flying out the gate and looked great. She hauled ass to make the first quarter a hair under 80 and then D joined in to help with the 2nd quarter. She didn't slow down much, coming in to the finish with a 2:41. As I took the splits I felt knots in my stomach. I pictured running that myself. I couldn't fathom it. I questioned if it would ever happen again.
We ran our cool down back to my office (I get drop off service too!) We passed by dark store windows and I saw the lithe bodies of D and then E and then the not so lithe body of me. Twenty-five pounds isn't all belly, despite what the very kind people like to tell me. I know peanut needs it and I need it to weather the near future, but still there is a part of me that hurts and longs for the good old days.