Running Postpartum

learning respect for myself; coming home again

After getting the baby down for a nap, I head downstairs to my treadmill.

We’ve had the machine for about five months and it lives in the basement. Having a treadmill makes little workouts so much easier in this phase with 3 little kids.

I strap on my heart rate monitor and hop on, cueing my Peloton run workout on my phone, propping it up so I can see.

I let myself sink into the exercise, starting at the easy pace as the instructor say before the intervals start. Minutes tick by and I notice when I’m at 23 more to go, 17 more to go, 7 more to go.

Towards the end, she has us doing intervals between a recovery pace and our max pace. Our max pace is supposed to be all-out effort—sprinting as fast as you possibly can without injury. I do exactly as the instructor says, running as fast as I possibly can for thirty seconds before slowing down to a jog, over and over.

Finally, the short workout is over and I get off and power down the treadmill. As I stretch, I run my hands over my spandexed body, its lumps and curves. That familiar roll on my tummy. My first thought is one of disgust but I quickly replace it with admonishment. I just ran as fast as I could…I can’t hate on myself after that.

Girl, you just ran as fast as you could. I remind myself. Give yourself a freaking break.

***

In November I decided to train to for a 10k. No, not an official race where I had to sign up and all that. I simply committed to a six week Peloton training program and picked a Saturday before Christmas that I would run my personal 10k on my treadmill at home.

For experienced runners, a 10k is no big deal. I mean, it’s not even close to a marathon and people run marathons all the time.

But for me, a 10k would be a huge deal.

6.2 miles would be the farthest I had ever run…in my entire life. I like running in a casual couple miles sort of way and I’d never run more than 5, ever. And the one time I ran 5 was years and years ago. My max recently was usually 2.5. So choosing to run the 10k was more of a challenge to see if I could run farther than I’d ever gone.

The training program was good but, man, my legs were so sore as the weeks went on. Still, I showed up over and over and it felt good to put my mind to something and to push myself.

That Saturday finally arrived and I slowly but steadily ran the 6.2 miles with my Rob and boys cheering me on. It was hard but it was do-able and I was so very glad it was over.

I’ll never forget how Rob and the boys made me a celebratory signs and made me feel so proud for something seemingly so silly.

But it wasn’t silly to me, not really. I chose to do something hard (hard for me anyway) and I did it. And coming from a sensitive place of low self-esteem in my postpartum journey, that mattered.

***

I’ve decided now I am going to train for a 5k. Again, not an official race, but a personal run on my treadmill. This time, instead of distance, I am going to focus on speed. Sure, I can run some, but I am usually slow. So my goal for this personal challenge is to run the 5k faster than I ever have before. I’ve picked a Peloton training program again and this time it focuses on speed work.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about why this is so important to me. Like…who cares?

I think I care because I’ve been trying to get in touch with my body postpartum. I’m ten months postpartum now and lately there’s been a disconnect from…I guess…. me, and my body.

Each pregnancy, my body put on an exact 40 pounds. That happens when I’m pregnant whether I want it to or not, no matter what I eat or how much I exercise…it’s just what my body decides is right for pregnancy. And that’s okay. I can trust my body with that.

But can I trust my body postpartum?

Because if I’m honest, I haven’t been very kind to myself recently. I choose not to diet, but I can still be mean. I easily critique myself: I still look pregnant. My stomach is too flabby. Look at this excess skin!

After my first two babies, I bounced back really really quickly without trying. But this time, the third time, I didn’t. Maybe it’s my age? I think that startled me. Unnerved me. Bothered me. Bouncing back—crawling back is what it feels like—has taken longer than expected. I don’t feel myself. And yeah, I know breastfeeding hormones are in play, but it’s more than that. It’s not so much about weight and size as it is feeling at home in my own skin. Lately, I just haven’t felt like “me”. And so I guess the running is an attempt to find myself in my body again. It’s about feeling at home again.

And I don’t know, when I run, I feel good and invigorated and afterwards I give myself a relief from the critique for at least a few hours because I just did something really hard.

I think what I’m realizing is that just like I shouldn’t critique myself after a hard run, I shouldn’t critique myself, well, ever. Running has given me a newfound respect for myself, but it’s a respect that should be there regardless.

I honestly don’t know when I will feel like myself again. Maybe when I’m done breastfeeding? Maybe I just don’t remember what it feels like not to be pregnant, not to be trying to be pregnant, not breastfeeding, but just to be just me? I don’t know! In the meantime, I’ll keep training for this next 5k. Hopefully running can keep teaching me how to respect myself, and I’m hoping I’ll start to feel more at home in my body once again.