My body doesn’t hate me! And other musings on life over the past 15 months.

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Remember how last time I checked in, I was training for my first 1/2 marathon in foreeeeeverrrrr? And I promised I wouldn’t quit? Well guess what? I actually ran it, and I didn’t quit. I mean clearly, I quit blogging. But I didn’t quit running. I tortured myself with mid-day and after work runs because as we have previously discussed, I have borderline PTSD from almost a decade of rising before the sun for morning swim practices. So I suffered through 90% humidity and 98 degrees (both the temperature AND the boy band) in the summer months, and finally was rewarded with my first trip to Vancouver. I hung out with lots of really awesome new friends, I slept on a sidewalk, I shopped til I dropped the morning before the race, and then I got to do this:

SW1SW3SW4

Disclaimer: the first picture isn’t mine. I pulled it of the interwebs but it isn’t copyrighted as far as I know. The others I took and yes, Vancouver is that awesome. I won’t bore you with the minutiae about the race, other than this- I ran slow (by former Jen standards) and I enjoyed EVERY minute of that race. The first 8 miles were a breeze. The weather was phenomenal, the course was fun and not too challenging. I was averaging about a 9:00 min/mile pace. I really started to hurt around mile 9, as I didn’t run more than 9 during training because a) I didn’t carve out the time for long runs and b) my knee was giving me some grief the last couple months. Anyway, I made sure to just keep moving, no walking, no stopping. I had a smile on my face the entire way and when I crossed the finish line somewhere around 2:03, I was thrilled that I just did not quit. It was by far the slowest 1/2 I have ever run, 10 minutes slower than a pregnant half marathon I ran many moons ago. But it was hands down the best running experience of my life. And perhaps the pinnacle of the race? FREE BRUNCH AFTERWARD.

If I had recapped the race in the immediate aftermath, rather than 49 weeks later, then it would have been much more drawn out (yes, this is an abbreviated version), with many more details and gushing about the post-runner’s high that I had. But alas, the months have marched on and my memory has faded. Plus, I’m sure you’re not here to read about the last race I did. You want to know what else has so occupied my time that I couldn’t return to bless you with my verbal diarrhea for over a year. Well, this happened:

baby feet

Ahahahaha just kidding. The shop is closed.

I’ll tell you what happened. It wasn’t pretty.

Within a couple weeks after that race, I started dealing with a lot of “stuff” to put it mildly. I experienced some pretty traumatic events in my professional life. I won’t get into the details but that, coupled with the extreme exhaustion caused by ramping up my running, the travel to/from Vancouver, camping out in Vancouver, the race that I was ill-prepared for, being severely sleep deprived the whole trip, and some personal drama (save the drama for yo’ mama please) led to me suffering from some very severe fatigue, plus other not so awesome symptoms. The thing is, I didn’t hit “pause” throughout this. You can’t really do that when you have a job (that by the way, you HATE because you’re being harassed daily), three kids, and a very full life. So I kept on moving. I was going to Flywheel five days a week because at the time, I didn’t know what was going on with my body, and I knew that working out always helped de-stress me. But little did I know that this constant high intensity cardio was actually not good for me. So I gained 10 pounds (on top of the baby weight that I was still nurturing from 2014, oops), I was constantly fatigued, my blood pressure was high, and essentially left me feeling worse when it was time to go… than ever before. I felt like my body was attacking itself.

I started working with my endocrinologist to get to the bottom of my concerns, and he determined my body was over producing cortisol, also known as “the stress hormone.” It was in a constant state of “fight or flight” because of the physical and emotional stress I was undergoing daily. My thyroid was also acting funky again, so we adjusted my meds and he recommended taking it easy with the cardio, trying yoga and walking. Um what did you just say? WALKING? WHAT IS WALKING? Like that thing you do when you bring your groceries inside from the car? I don’t even understand these words coming out of your mouth, Doc! But at this point I was just so sad and frustrated, I was willing to do whatever he told me, besides give up Diet Pepsi. Sorry, it’s true. I have problems.

While it wasn’t that difficult for me to change my fitness routine, I had another problem: my career. I was so completely miserable in my job that it affected my interactions with most everyone in my life. Again, I won’t get into the gory details but I was desperate for a way out. When I was at my rock bottom, a wonderful friend/mentor linked me up with her friend. They counseled me through the situation, and eventually, helped me get a new job. The day I accepted this new job, it was like 10,000 pounds have been lifted off me. And I wanted to write 10,000 words to express how grateful I am to them, but I clearly cannot find the time these days, so this will have to suffice. THANK YOU GINGER. I am crying just typing this, because I was in such a dark place and assumed I would have to become jobless and then destitute and WHAT WOULD I DO WITH ALL MY LULULEMON????

Once I started my new job, everything changed. I had a beautiful on site fitness facility complete with a MASSAGE THERAPIST, a cafeteria that serves delicious sushi every Wednesday, walking trails, a commitment to wellness, a free nutritionist, rooms with treadmill desks, and hi did I mention the sushi day? Basically, it was everything I could ever hope for in a job, besides the fact that The Avett Brothers don’t play on site every Friday. That was an unfortunate downside of this company, but it’s okay, I got over it. My mental wellbeing changed significantly within days. But here is the thing… my weight/body did not. It was like I had permanently damaged my metabolism or something. And well, if you are a woman with a history of body dysmorphia, that kinda sucks.

So around New Year’s, I decided to start lifting heavy weight again. Mostly lower body, like squats, lunges, and deadlifts. Because who doesn’t want to turn their pancake butt into a peach? AmIright? I also began tracking my food intake, using the very nifty app My Fitness Pal. I calculated my nutritional needs/macro numbers at Bodybuilding.com, and then plugged all that into the app. PS- you may be asking what macro’s (macronutrients) are, and I would love to post a link, but most of the decent ones are tied to websites trying to sell you crap, so you can just google if you care to learn. Anyway, once I started tracking my macros and adding a little resistance training to my workouts, I started seeing changes in my measurements and my weight. Conservative but encouraging. Then I quit because well, I just have a really hard time sticking with stuff, as you have already seen many times if you have been following this blog. To those of you who have stuck with me, anxiously awaiting a post once a year, CHEERS to you!

I got down on myself again about the weight gain, because on May 8, 2017 I hit an all-time non-pregnant high weight. In fact, I *achieved* the weight that I was the day I gave birth to my first kid. I won’t share the number because that is unimportant to y’all, but it was completely demoralizing. I started in the mirror and thought “I don’t have a mom bod. I’m pretty hot, right? Where is all that weight hiding?” Oh right, I got that skinny mirror at Walmart and it makes my legs look long and lean, and all my selfies are taking with this miraculous phone that has a *slim face* feature. Wow, Samsung really knows what women want! And to dear sweet Super Dad, who said “but muscle weighs more than fat, right Honey?” BLESS YOU. But fool, I know my body fat percentage and I am not walking around with 3% or 13% or even 23% body fat my friend. That is not muscle. It’s fat. It’s a lot of fat. Oh sweet baby Jebus where did all that fat come from? Oh right, Bojangles. BISCUITS. FRIED CHICKEN. I’m hungry right now.

So how did I remedy this situation? How did I lose 12 pounds and 6% body fat in 8 weeks? Stay tuned, I’ll be back tomorrow. I PROMISE. No really, I have the post drafted and it is scheduled to post tomorrow.

Here’s a hint, and it doesn’t involve herbs or shakes or wraps or any of that other crap people try to sell me on the regular…

chang

 

I’m quitting quitting

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I’m a quitter. I freely admit it. I hope you have your reading glasses on, and don’t quit on me. Because this post is loooooong. What can I say? I have like 9 months to atone for.

It all goes back to my childhood. I quit trying to be an older sibling, so I ended up an only child. When I was a young swimmer, I switched events because my friend started beating me. I figured, if I’m not doing that event anymore, she isn’t really beating me.

Then in college, when I did horribly in Chemistry my first semester, I quit on my dream to become a doctor. Because it was too hard, and because I was no longer the best at schooling. I was used to basically just breathing and getting straight A’s. In college- not so much. So I just switched to a major that I couldn’t fail at. And I ended up in law school. Where all my greatest dreams came true. Ummmmm.

When I took up running, I was finally doing something that I felt I could succeed at again. Because I didn’t excel as a collegiate swimmer or a future doctor or even a future lawyer (though somehow I ended up with a JD and a job). I hadn’t ever run a half marathon before, so my first half was a PR. And then my second, and my third, and so on. Then I picked up marathon running, and that resulted in PR’s. Until one day it didn’t. One day, when I knew I hadn’t put in the work and I went out too fast, I saw a non-PR on the horizon. So I quit. I walked, and I jogged, and I walked, then I came up with some lame excuse. And promised myself I wouldn’t quit again.

Then motherhood came along. And I learned how you can’t quit. You can’t just stop waking up for your baby, you can’t lay down and cry when she is sick and needs you. You can’t stop going to work when it’s too hard, or let your baby stick her finger in an electrical outlet. It just ain’t gonna happen- unless you want someone to call the authorities on you.

I started training for a marathon when SuperGirl was about 7 months old. And guess what? I didn’t quit. I finished within about 5 minutes of my PR, which I considered pretty good for someone who had to pump then strap on two bras in order to go out for a long run. I felt like maybe my luck had changed.

But then I messed up my shoulder and had two surgeries in the first 18 months of SuperGirl’s life, and it all kind of spiraled down from there. I couldn’t get my groove back. Gosh, I so feel for Stella. I dabbled in stuff- bootcamp here, cycle there, running shorter distances. Then I got pregnant and it was like “YES, I have an excuse not to train as hard or an explanation for why I didn’t PR.” Can you believe that crap?

I ran a half when I was pregnant with SuperBoy, and it was so liberating running for a pregnancy PR. I had no real time to beat, so it was such an enjoyable experience. I PR’d a 10k at 28.5 weeks pregnant, because I had never run a 10k (that distance is the WORST bt dubs). I did not really run during my pregnancy with SuperToddler, because I was nursing a back injury and decided to take up Crossfit instead. Huh? That totally makes sense.

Doing Crossfit during that pregnancy was awesome because everything was relatively new. Double unders! Box jumps! Snatches! Thrusters (DEVIL!!!) Being pregnant, kicking ass and taking names- it felt so good. I was on top of the world again. I was THAT woman Crossfitting with a very noticeable baby bump, and everybody noticed my fat ass waddling around the building carrying a sand bag. It felt good to be the best at being pregnant and exercising. HOW DUMB IS THAT???

After having SuperGirl I was convinced I would bounce right back and finally do an unassisted pullup – because seriously, trying to learn how to do an unassisted pullup for the first time ever, when you weigh 20 pounds more than normal, it’s not that easy. I would crush my back squat and deadlift PR’s because those were pregnancy PR’s and everybody knows that you have to hold back when pregnant. Right? Well I let the proverbial cart get ahead of the horse, and injured myself again and again. Have we discussed where I can purchase a nice bubble to reside in? Preferably one made by Lululemon? I’ll even settle for Athleta. Or that Ivy Park crap from Queen Bey.

 

I’ve spent the better part of a year learning how to accept my body’s limitations. I’m not 25 anymore. I am fairly certain that SuperToddler broke my body and she’s very VERY lucky she’s so cute and sleeps 13 hours a night, because otherwise I would be super pissed. My thyroid tanked, I am a good 15 pounds over my normal fighting weight, my other hormonal dealio things are whacked (I blame ‘roids- not the fun make you super ripped kind, but the “I have pneumonia” or “my neck is screwed” kind), and my spine is definitely a wonderland. So where do I go from here?

For starters, I have been channeling my inner competitor at Flywheel since last spring. There is this Torqboard that is fantastic/horrible for maniacs like myself. You can see how you stack up to your competition, or you can elect not to participate in the board, in which case you are only competing against yourself. That’s cool I guess, but I would rather see your name in lights (unless you are beating me). SuperDad is concerned that this is only further fueling the fire that is my competitive psychosis, but I disagree, sorta. Yeah, I get very wrapped up in my score. But I also try to learn new ways to improve. I listen to my body, and when it’s sore, I just do what I can. I figure out different ways to engage my abs, my hamstrings, my BOOTY, and even my feet! It has made me so much stronger in so many ways. There are SO many times I have wanted to quit, and I’ve only followed through with quitting like 20% 40% of the time. That’s better than 100%, right? Throw me a bone here.

Although the status of my neck is still up in the air (read: I may need another surgery. I know, I don’t want to talk about it), I have decided to give myself an attainable goal to work toward. I am going to Vancouver to run the Lululemon Seawheeze Half Marathon  this August. I will get to meet some amazing ladies that have helped me get through the past year. Seriously, some of the kindest, funniest, most incredible people I have ever had the pleasure of “meeting” in the way we 21st century earthlings meet. I can’t wait to snuggle them and braid their hair and spend alllll the monies on French pastries (do they have those in Vancouver? Because they should) and poutine and special edition Lulu goodies that we will camp out for. Because we are legit crazy.

And that is what is going to keep me from quitting. This is I want to experience so badly. Meeting people who I have laughed and cried with, running, partying, doing the yoga thang, shopping, and seeing THIS (that’s Vancouver right? Cuz I googled Vancouver and this image appeared)!

Van

Will I get a PR? Probably not. Will I quit? Nope. I’m done quitting. Which I guess makes me a quitter still.

 

An ode to the 21 Day Sugar Detox. Also known as, that time my body didn’t hate me.

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in my last post, I casually mentioned how I had recently embarked on the 21 Day Sugar Detox. I didn’t get into all the gory details because I was about 4 days in and quite frankly, not 100% at all confident about my ability to follow through. I am not known for having the most self control (see e.g., Lululemon shopping). I don’t think Super Dad or anyone who is even remotely familiar with me, including Super Girl, had any confidence in my ability to complete the detox. Perhaps this is why I was actually successful?

The whole premise behind the detox is that you need 21 days to “break the chains sugar and carbs have on you – and help you find food freedom.” To call my addiction to sugar and carbs “intense” would be an understatement. I had the diet of a toddler: carbs, carbs, and more carbs. The only difference between me and a 2 year old is that I ate more, I drank booze, and I chugged Diet Pepsi. Shudder. Times a million. I was convinced that my chronic pain and another inflammatory condition from which I suffer were exacerbated by my horrific diet. After talking with some friends and perusing the internets (and more importantly, getting – and ignoring for 3 months – a free 21 Day Sugar Detox Cookbook from a friend), I decided to dive in. Here is the gist of what you can’t eat on this detox: grain, sugar (including sugar from molasses, honey, coconut sugar, stevia, whatever), artificial sweetener, fruits other than coconut, lemons and limes (oh thank God, because I eat like 10 a day… said no one ever), green-tipped bananas, and apples. And, YOU CANNOT DRINK BOOZE. AT ALL. I repeat: NO BOOZE.

After mentally preparing for months, I set a date to start the detox. I bought a bunch of coconut aminos, coconut oil, coconut milk, coconut water, and basically everything else ever made from coconut, and started planning out my attack plan.  I chose what I could make ahead of time for breakfast and snacks so I wouldn’t just grab a cereal bar or eat spoonfuls of honey-infused creamy all the sugar added peanut butter whenever I was starving. I set up our produce box so I would have all the ingredients to make meals that seemed simple enough, but tasty enough that I wouldn’t miss the Chinese Food I wouldn’t be eating.  Yes, shudder again. That is what I used to eat. Frequently.

I made sure to remove all things from the house that I would normally want: ice cream, chocolate, Korean pastries, American pastries, French pastries, cookies, that other carton of ice cream. I planned out our dinners and what I would eat versus the kids. I would usually have some 21DSD approved version of their meals. So I would feed them veggie pasta and make spaghetti squash for myself. And then, they would end up eating all of my spaghetti squash. Why does this always happen?

The first day, I made sure to fill myself up with eggs and have a nice big coffee with coconut milk. The taste of actual coffee, not covered with vanilla syrup or a bunch of Splenda (cancer sprinkles) was horrifying. People actually drink coffee black? How is this possible? Oh well, at least I can have my caffeine so nobody gets murdered at work. I snacked on pistachios and cheese at work. Dinner was some delicious chicken and vegetables I prepared the previous evening. I felt GOOD and it had only been 12 hours.

The next couple days were smooth sailing. I felt less bloated, less belchy, less gassy, and didn’t get my typical afternoon sugar crashes. I lost 4 pounds in a couple days. Obviously water weight. I was less rage-y with the drivers on the road. I didn’t wave to anybody but hey, Rome wasn’t built in a day.

Around day 5, I noticed I was getting lightheaded and nauseous, and then I was like “oh duh, I have been working out hard every day, running in 100 degree heat, and eating maybe 50 grams of carbs a day. And I have no clue how much protein.” Instead of focusing on what I SHOULD eat, I was focusing on what I should not eat. I wasn’t timing my carbs right or eating enough protein. Plus, my body was going into ketosis, learning how to metabolize fat instead of carbs. I remedied that very quickly, and discovered my love of coconut water. Sooooo yummy, especially after an intense workout.

The weekend were particularly hard because I spend a lot of time at the pool with the kids, and the pool snackbar isn’t exactly known for having Paleo friendly or sugar free selections.  I once went without packing anything other than animal crackers and Goldfish for the kids. So yeah, that worked out well. I also love a nice ice cold Diet Pepsi when I am at the pool. I know, I’m gross. The 4th of July was not super amazing either. Why did I choose to have Day 11 of the detox fall on 4th of July? I know, because I’m a moron. I snacked on veggies with homemade dressing, burgers without a bun, and organic Applegate Farms hot dogs. And more veggies. And oh, I drank a lot of La Croix and plain water. I used to despise La Croix because it felt like it was a juice poser. Such a tease, like “here is just a hint of Grapefruit/Lime/Raspberry. Do you like that? Well that’s all you’re getting!!!” Now, it is a way for me to get my bubbly fix. I will say that tolerating my children while sober on the 4th of July was exceptionally difficult, but it did help to ensure that no sparkler injuries occurred.

I won’t recap the other 10 days because they were uneventful.  Eating the same things over and over got B-O-R-I-N-G but I had a lightbulb moment when I realized that my diet was super boring before. I ate the same terrible things over and over again. I had very little variety when it came to the fatty and carb-filled treats.  I ate a lot of pizza and Chinese Food and Jimmy John’s. So why was I so bored eating the same healthy things repeatedly? With each day, avoiding junk became easier. Watching the kids eat ice cream was not that hard. Driving by Bojangles was easy. I don’t know if is because staying away from sugar and most carbs just made me stop wanting them, or because feeling SO DAMN GOOD helped me plug on, or some combination of these things. But I really was surprised when all of a sudden, it was day 21. Super Dad was obviously surprised too. The “WOW, I am really proud of you for finishing the detox” was code for “I was absolutely 15927% sure you would eat a biscuit on day 3, so bravo.”

I finished the detox last Sunday and on Monday, I was like “hmmm what should I eat today?” I was hesitant to see what would happen when I “broke the seal.” I started with my typical breakfast that I had prepared a few nights earlier. I packed a salad for lunch as usual. But then I had a hot pretzel at the mall and a Diet Pepsi. I about spit the drink out. It was so.freaking.sweet. Like, disgusting. The pretzel though- it was glorious. But I felt like a steaming pile of dung within an hour. I was bloated, and I felt so full and gross. The next day I ate well again for breakfast but had a sandwich for lunch. Felt terrible again all afternoon.  And so on and so forth.  I ate cupcakes this weekend, and Chinese Food, and pizza. And last night I decided that eating all that crap is simply not what I want. I gained back all 5 pounds I lost and then another for good measure (lol, I blame weaning Super Baby and going on some medication, yup, right that is it) and some of my pain returned. You are what you eat. I have said it many times before. It is a cliche but it is so true. I eat crap, I feel like crap.

It took 21 days on the 21 Day Sugar Detox for me to kick my sugar cravings. It took about an hour for me to realize that even though I like the way cupcakes and donuts and pizza make me feel for about 21 seconds, I hate the way I feel for days afterwards. I need to find a way to make some version of the detox a sustainable part of my life. Today, I had not a drop of added sugar, no sugar substitutes, nothing. And I already feel better. So I am open to suggestions, and I encourage anyone who feels controlled by carbs and sugar to try the 21 Day Sugar Detox (no this is not sponsored).

I AM ALIVE

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Wow, I am the WORST BLOGGER EVER. Seriously.

But I have a great excuse. Bear with me for a moment. I had another baby! neck surgery. Well, that only explains the last five months of inactivity. But the three months before that, I was dealing with some serious low back and neck issues which made running and being anything other than a sloth pretty difficult.  I think I averaged about 15 miles per week of running. That was pretty impressive, I know.

Anyway, fast forward to January 17, 2015. This happened. neck An anterior cervical discectomy and fusion at C5-6. They removed the C5-6 disc and replaced it with some screws, or something.

And this is what it looked like on the outside. neck2 I’m sorry, I can’t help that I’m sexy. My mama came to help me recover, which was very nice of her, especially during almost tax season (she is a CPA). We spent two nights in a fancy hotel with Super Girl, and I watched tv, read trashy magazines, drank stuff through a straw, and Vicodin-texted people. It’s almost as fun as ambien texting. Almost. Super Girl told me I needed to go to lululemon to get a scarf to cover my neck hole, so of course, I did.

The next several weeks were tough. I wasn’t allowed to drive for two weeks, or lift more than a gallon of milk for 6 weeks, which meant I couldn’t pick up my own kids, including Super Baby. Which also means that Super Dad had to ramp up his super parenting skills exponentially, which you wouldn’t think possible, given that he already does everything around here. He would go and get Super Baby from her crib in the middle of the night and set her down beside me in the bed so I could nurse her. Then he would put her back in her crib. Sidebar: WHY did my third baby decide to be the one who was a crappy sleeper? Super Girl and Super Toddler slept through the night at like 7 days old. Not really, but within the first three months of life. Super Dad also had to take them to daycare and pick them up every day for a few weeks. I eventually got to the point where daycare would help me bring the kids out to the car so that I could at least pick them up at the end of the work day. I also couldn’t really be alone with Super Baby because if she needed to be picked up, I couldn’t exactly rely on Super Girl to do it. Although she is freakishly strong for a 5-year-old.

Do you guys know about parenting points? It’s where one parent accumulates points (to be cashed in at a later date) by doing things like watching all the kids for a weekend, or getting up with the baby in the middle of the night, or what have you. Well, Super Dad accumulated about 749,204,573 points during my recovery. He has cashed in approximately 3,200 of them during a recent trip to Colorado. So I am still seriously in the red.

Another awesome thing happened in the winter. We got a ton of ice and snow. About three weeks after surgery, I slipped and fell on the ice, which is definitely  not something you want to happen when you are recovering from a cervical fusion. I was starting to feel a lot better post-surgery. I had regained much of the strength in my left hand which I had lost, and my thumb and hand pain were almost gone. But after I fell, I began having this horrible nerve pain in my right shoulder. I know, I should play the lottery because I have the best luck ever! Well, guess what? To this day, I am still dealing with that pain. I managed to herniate the disc below where I had my fusion. Why? Because when you have a fusion, the levels below and above are at greater risk for herniation. So, yeah, that’s fun.

I am treating with my orthopedic surgeon and a pain management specialist, and have gotten two epidural steroid injections, several trigger point injections, and am going to start physical therapy. I do electric stim at home too. In the mean time, my running has been virtually nonexistent because the jostling seems to bother me. And I am seriously boo-hooing because I haven’t been able to go to Madabolic Raleigh since the new year (seriously, if you are in Raleigh, Charlotte, Charlottesville, Asheville, Greenville, or one of those other ‘villes, you NEED to go. They have an awesome program going and the owners of the Raleigh location are the sweetest people ever). But I have been going to Flywheel a lot because it is low impact and it totally feeds my competitive illness. If I’m not in first place at the end of a class, I feel like I just wasted $20. It’s the only thing I can win at these days, besides eBay and “how many times a day can you yell at your kids?” contests.

I am also turning around my diet with the 21 Day Sugar Detox, which is basically Paleo. I think, I’m not sure. I never really looked into Paleo before because I was 100% convinced I could never give up bread. As we all know from my blog name, I am super into carbs. Like, the bad kind. I am hoping that putting the kibosh on gobbling sweets and swigging Diet Pepsi will help with my pain and some other health issues I won’t get into here.  More on that in my next post, which I PROMISE will not be in 8 months. I am only on day 2 of the detox and so far it is going pretty well. If by “pretty well” you mean “in a way that makes me wish I could be in a medically induced coma for the next 20 days.”  No really, it isn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be, minus the excruciating amount of time I have to spend prepping food and cooking. Which is (how many times can you divide zero into one hour?) times more than I typically spend on those things each day.

But first, I leave you with two delicious things:

1) The Banana Vanilla Bean N’oatmeal that I had for breakfast this morning. To die for.

2) This baby. Who needs to be eaten, immediately. Babies are Paleo, right?

coco2

Half full

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No, the title of this post doesn’t describe me after a visit to Gigi’s Cupcakes or any place that serves biscuits.  Because if so, it would be titled “TOTALLY UNCOMFORTABLY FULL.”

Several friends reached out to me after my last post, saying they were sorry about my back problems, and offering their support. I responded to one of them that it isn’t really so bad because I no longer have to stress out every day about how I am going to fit a workout in along with everything else I try to do in 24 hours, including keeping three small humans alive. She said it was a very glass half full way to look at things.

I am not usually a glass half full kind of person.  In fact, I am a glass mostly empty type of person. I am not very positive, as I assume that the worst will happen to me. Yeah, it is a pretty awesome way to live life… said no one ever. I just found over the years that if I don’t expect that much, I can’t be let down as much.  Sounds reasonable, right?

But with my newfound free slightly less totally frantic and mind-spinning time, I realize that taking a completely non-voluntary break from exercising is making me slightly less insane than I thought it would. This is because I have eliminated the total chaos that comes from trying to get to the gym or sneak in a run while having a full-time job out of the home, a part-time job on the side, breast-feeding, chauffering three kids to/from daycare, and attempting to sleep at least 12 hours a day (kidding sort of).  I am by no means saying that I am giving up on working out and devoting myself to blogging and competitive eating. What I am saying is there is a bright side, and maybe the universe was trying to keep me from having a nervous breakdown.

Here is how my days looked M-F with no kids:

1) Wake up when my alarm goes off.
2) Eat a bowl of hot oatmeal, or maybe some scrambled eggs or pancakes while watching TV that was DVR’d just one night earlier.
3) Go to work.
4) Come home.
5) Have a snack and read a book maybe.
6) Go to the gym or on a 7 mile run with the dogs.
7) Come home and shower.
8) Put on makeup.
9) Go out to eat with Super Husband.
10) Come home and watch TV.
11) Go to bed whenever.
12) Sleep 9 hours with no interruptions. Repeat.

Life with one kid (after three months):

image

1) Wake up to either hungry baby or alarm clock, depending on whether or not it is a good day.

2) Feed her.

3) Eat some cereal standing up while perusing Us magazine.

4) Prepare bottles for daycare.

5) Drop baby off at daycare.

6) Go to work.

7) Pick baby up from daycare and drive straight to the gym.

8) Come home from gym and shower while SuperDad feeds baby a bottle.

9) Eat dinner with SuperDad at the dinner table. Or take baby out to dinner. Unless she is over one year old. Then don’t even bother until everyone in your house is > 3 years old.

10) Put baby to bed.

11) Watch tv for an hour or so, or play video games with SuperDad, then go to bed. Heck, maybe you even get a sitter and go out to a BAR?!

12) Go to bed.

Repeat

Life with two kids (after three months):

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1) Wake up to either hungry baby or toddler who needs to pee or has had a bad dream.

2) Feed both children.

3) Make bottles for daycare.

4) Take both children to daycare (add 6 minutes to prior drop-off routine)

5)  Go home and get diapers because you forgot those for the baby.

6) Take diapers to daycare.

7) Go back home and get your pump.

8) Go to work.

9) Eat a granola bar at your desk.

10) Pick kids up from daycare.

11) Go to the gym.

12) Leave the gym because you forgot to bring snacks for the toddler. She is starving and refuses to go into childcare without a snack.

13) Put the kids in the double stroller and go for a run, after feeding toddler. And pumping.

14)  Feed both kids dinner, then bathe them (most nights).

15) Put baby to bed.

16) Watch Friends or New Girl with your toddler, while you eat a luke warm Lean Cuisine. She doesn’t know what they are talking about- she is only 2 1/2.

17) Put toddler to bed.

18) Take a shower.

19) Watch tv for 30 minutes with SuperDad.

20) Pass out.

Repeat

Life with three kids:

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1) Alarm goes off at 5 so you can pump then run or go to Crossfit at 6. Turn alarm off because you can work out at lunch. Uh huh, totally gonna happen.

2) Wake up to either a hungry baby, hungry toddler, toddler with a nose bleed, preschooler who has wet the bed or had a bad dream or lost her Hello Kitty or is concerned about her Halloween costume, or some combination of the above.

3) Nurse the baby while everyone else sleeps, assuming she was the first one up. Otherwise, nurse the baby while toddler screams, preschooler watches Peppa Pig in your bed, and SuperDad takes world’s fastest shower.

4) Go downstairs to make bottles for daycare, feed the dogs, pour some cereal for the older kids, grab any bills that need to be paid. Do not concern yourself with getting anything for you or SuperDad to eat. That is what vending machines are for.

5) Go upstairs and grab diapers for baby to put in diaper bag. Run downstairs and put in diaper bag.

6) Go back upstairs to get diapers for toddler. Put in diaper bag.

7) Get baby dressed.

8) Get yourself dressed then throw on makeup.

9) Pack your gym bag. Don’t forget clean underwear and a towel if you are going at lunch.

10) Leave SuperDad at home to deal with the monsters children. He has to dress them, feed them, get them in the car, and make it to work before noon 9 10.

11) Drive to work.

12) Realize when you are pulling into the parking garage that you forgot a sports bra for the gym. So yeah, that workout is not happening.

13) Get some overly hard boiled eggs from the cafeteria at work.

14) Eat hard boiled eggs at your desk aka stink up your office for the rest of the day. Who cares? It is protein and you are the boss.

15) Leave work to pick up kids from daycare. Don’t forget a snack or they will scream THE WHOLE WAY HOME.

16) Kids screaming the whole way home.

17) Once you get home, don’t let the starving, under-exercised dogs knock you over while you are carrying a baby through the door.

18) Be prepared to whip up a super cheesy, carb-filled healthy dinner in 14 seconds. Or the kids will scream. Or better yet, make sure SuperDad is already home and cooking.

19) Turn on the babysitter TV. Peppa Pig or Sophia the First. Top Chef if you are very very lucky.

20) Convince toddler to eat 1.5 bites of quinoa pasta and peas.

21) Nurse the baby.

22) Attempt to eat a delicious Caprese salad that you have been waiting to eat all day. Because kids hate mozzarella and balsamic. False. They will eat all of it even though they wanted nothing to do with their pasta. You have half a tomato slice and lick the balsamic off the plate, while standing of course. Super filling. And satisfying.

23) Bathe kids if it is Monday or Thursday. Wash hair if it is Thursday.

24) Put toddler to bed.

25) Nurse baby.

26) Take a shower.

27) Nurse baby some more (cluster feeding is AWESOME!) then put her to bed.

28) Read stories to preschooler. Answer 75 questions during two stories.

29) Put her to bed.

30) Go to bed 9 minutes later.

So needless to say, eliminating three steps from the routine these days has made it a lot easier for me to focus on important things like posting pictures on Instagram (@willrunforbiscuits– follow me!), watching Bravo, and hanging out with my tiny people.

In all seriousness though, because we know I am a super serious person, this isn’t meant to scream “look how awesome I am” or “life is so easy with one kid” but… no wait, I AM saying life was easier with one kid. I ran a lot. I slept a lot. I hung out with SuperDad a lot. But with each kid my heart has expanded more than I thought possible. You make sacrifices to have one, two, ten kids (don’t have ten kids- unless you are a kitten. In which case bravo, you are a blog-reading kitten). You sacrifice your figure, your time, sometimes your sanity. But it is oh so worth it. So if that means I won’t be running a sub 3:40 marathon again for 5 more years, so be it. Even though I love the endorphins and it keeps me level, it will never fill my glass the way these crazy kids do. I hope to get back to running and working out as soon as I can, but in the mean time, I will enjoy my precious “free” time.

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You are what you eat… part II

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Since my last post, I got a lot of feedback from people who said they could relate to my story about my battle with eating issues.  I am so glad that I was able to reach out to people who may have struggled in the past or are struggling now.  That said, I really wish that I was not such a hypocrite.  I am really frustrated about the fact that my body has not changed since I wrote that post about 7 weeks ago. I know I am still only 3 months post partum and I shouldn’t be so hard on myself, but I really am not used to having a jiggly belly.  I want to wear pants with buttons.  I still have to wear maternity pants to work because all my dress pants are really small.  Note to self: If you are not pregnant, and don’t want to look pregnant, don’t wear maternity pants. Yikes.  Getting dressed for work in the morning almost puts me in tears because I feel like I only have about 3 outfits that fit me.  Not to mention I can’t really wear dresses because I have to pump while at work and I don’t feel like being half naked sitting at my desk (in my office- door closed!) with my dress around my neck. Awkward.

I really didn’t worry about the scale for a while because as I mentioned before, the number isn’t all that matters to me anymore.  What does matter is how I feel and also, to be honest, how my clothes fit.  I really felt I was getting to a place where I felt strong and secure, but that all stalled out a few weeks ago and quite frankly, I know the culprit- my diet.  I don’t use the term diet in the sense of limiting what I eat.  Rather, I mean that my diet, or lack thereof, is holding me back in a lot of ways.

About a year ago, I posted about how you are what you eat.  I seriously wanted to commit myself to eating healthier and setting a better example for Super Girl and Super Toddler.  They are actually pretty good eaters.  They love broccoli, beans, squash, zucchini, and asparagus.  But, and MAJOR but here, they are also carbaholics like their mom.  I did pretty well sort of ok with the cleaner eating until I got preggo with Super Baby last summer/fall.  Then it was all downhill, which is exactly what you don’t want to do when pregnant.  You are supposed to nourish your growing baby with the good stuff, not Bojangles.

I continued eating poorly after she was born, and after I started legitimately working out again at about 6 weeks post partum.  In the interest of full disclosure, here is a sampling of my daily meals: Breakfast- Cinnamon Life Cereal mixed with Honey Nut Cheerios (not a trough full, just a regular sized bowl.  Still, probably about 3 servings worth if I was measuring out actual suggested servings) with 2% milk, a big glass of water, and a Diet Pepsi.  Stop judging me already! Lunch- A Beach Club from Jimmy John’s.  It has turkey, ham, lettuce, tomato, provolone cheese, and mayo.  I go easy on the mayo and cheese, so it’s probably only like 200 calories worth instead of 300.  Another Diet Pepsi.  Seriously, I know I have issues.  Snack- an apple, Cheezits, and maybe a 2% Fage yogurt. Dinner- whatever Super Dad makes (on a good day).  Most days- pizza, some sort of salad with Ranch dressing, or pasta.  Some days- a couple scoops of frozen yogurt. Or a bowl of grapes, strawberries, or blueberries on a good day. I am truly HORRIFIED actually reading this.  There is nothing good about this, except the days when Super Dad cooks tilapia, squash, zucchini, eggplant, and rice for us.  But with three kids and full time jobs, delicious gourment meals from my personal man chef are farther and fewer between.  I can’t complain because I squat, but I don’t do squat.

There really is no point in beating myself up over my terrible eating choices for the past, oh, 10 months. It’s water under the bridge. But my bad habits are rubbing off on the Super kids.  Super Girl pretty much expects dessert every day, even if it is just one small piece of chocolate.  I am pretty sure the first two words that Super Toddler strung together were “cheesy puff.” I am dead serious, but can at least sort of put the blame on my neighbor who ALWAYS has Cheetos around.  Man those things are good.  Anyway, I have had to put the kaibosh on the dessert and snacks which means that I also can’t eat that stuff every day either, because what kind of mom would I be if I tell them “do as I say, not as I do”?  I don’t want to set them up for having body issues like me, or an unhealthy relationship with food.

Also, I feel like CRAP. I mean, it doesn’t help that I can only sporadically count on a full night’s sleep and that I am trying to squeeze in the following on a daily basis: 1) raising three kids, 2) working out, 3) a full time job, 4) a new side job for an amazing company that I am totally in love with, 5) keeping up with the Kardashians, 6) hanging out with my girlfriends, and 7) not totally neglecting the incredible Super Dad. Phew, I am tired just reading that. Side bar- #humblebrag much? Beside the whole Kardashians thing.  I am 100% certain that the way I am eating is doing absolutely nothing to improve my energy level or the skin tightedness (I know that’s not a word) of my clothing. It’s a vicious circle. I’m tired, so I make bad eating choices, which makes me more tired, which sometimes causes me to skip a workout.  If I don’t skip a workout, it’s usually not a very good one.  And I’m even more tired, so I eat poorly again. Plus, don’t they say that abs are made in the kitchen, not the gym? If that’s true, then throw an apron on me because I need to get in the kitchen.

So it’s all on the table now.  I started my day with my cereal cocktail before my morning workout.  I mean, I burned all those carbs off right? I had a fresh pressed juice from Raleigh Raw after my workout, and I felt so incredible all day that I ran 10 miles after work.  Psych.  I know it’s going to take a while, and I don’t know if I am capable of giving up all my vices cold turkey, but I’m committing myself to it this time around because I can’t afford new pants.  And I can’t afford to continue setting a bad example for my family.

 

It’s getting real up in here

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July 2013

July 2013

Whenever I go to the gym, run a race, or see people trying out new diets (ahem, “lifestyle changes”), I wonder what the impetus is.  Do these people Crossfit to lose weight? To get stronger (duh)? To work on their butts? Do my friends eat Paleo so that they can get leaner? Or maybe they are thinking about the long term health benefits of changing the way they eat.  I don’t really care what the answer is because it’s none of my business.  I just know that for me, exercise and nutrition have played so many different roles in my life and I am once again seeing their evolution now that I am a mother of three, just scrambling to keep my head above water many days.

The background on this somewhat totally rambling, TMI post is this: during pretty much every minute of my 20’s, I had an eating disorder.  I vascillated between bulimic and anorexic although I never looked thin like the celebrities and models whom everyone labels as anorexic.  I know exactly when/why it started in college, but that’s not something to get into here.  The only salient point is that I became bulimic for a number of reasons, one being that I loved food more than I loved myself. I loved the way donuts and ice cream and cookies made me feel. But then I hated gaining weight. So being the brilliant college student I was, I figured purging was a way to get the best of both worlds: eat a lot and not gain weight.  Oh wait. As any bulimic will tell you, you definitely do not lose weight with binging and purging.  In fact, you may (I did) gain weight. And you feel GROSS.  You also feel like you are deceiving so many people around you, including your loved ones.

Right before my senior year of college, I decided the bulimia thing wasn’t working for me.  I needed to find a different way to get control because bulimia made me feel out of control.  So I switched gears. I started counting calories and stopped drinking (Uh, I mean, I was only 20 so actually I made the decision not to start drinking when I turned 21 in the fall).  I lost a LOT of weight because I was swimming 4 hours a day, doing one hour on the ellipitical between practices, and subsisting off of chocolate chip scones, frozen yogurt, and salad.  I allowed myself 1300 calories per day but I was burning close to 4000. The weight melted off and I tipped the scales at 116 before the season started. I think my weight at weigh-in was 136 the year before. But I got a lot of positive reinforcement because I swam faster.  And my back fat was gone, so of course I was thrilled about that.

After graduation, I didn’t have all the hard core swimming to keep my weight in check.  So back to bulimia I went. My bulimia peaked while in law school.  The stress of studying and being away from my friends and family, the feeling of not being even close to the best but actually being below average when everything depended on your class rank… I just could not handle it. Things got so bad during law school that I considered taking a semester off to go to some really expensive recovery facility to deal with my eating issues. The cost was just too huge of a deterrent. I knew I was going to develop some serious health complications from my bulimia if I didn’t stop.  I decided I wanted to start running again to see if that would give me some of the self esteem I had lost after college.  I also thought it would help me lose all the weight I put on from my binges.

Picking up long distance running in 2005 was the first turning point in my eating disorder. I had something to focus on besides “where am I going to get my next meal… which will end up in the toilet?” I began to feel better about myself. I ran a half marathon after 6 months of training and was pleased that I ran under an 8:00 mile pace for my first half marathon.  A few months later I ran a half marathon around a 7:20/mile pace. My grades improved significantly.  The problem that lingered is that I continued to be bulimic, but it was more like “bulimic light.” As long as my training went well and I had a good run, or a good race, I didn’t rush out to buy ice cream and other junk.  But if I had a bad day or missed a run for some reason, I backslid into my old eating habits.

This pattern pretty much continued even after I became a real grownup, with obligations like law school debt, a car payment, and a mortgage. It wasn’t until I became pregnant with Super Girl that I had a wake up call.  I could not, I would not, do anything to harm this baby just because I was too ignorant or scared to deal with the underlying issues that contributed to my eating disorder.  I needed to make smart choices for myself and this child.  I continued eating biscuits and ice cream, but instead of just using it to stuff down my feelings and anxiety, I ate it to enjoy the way it tasted.  I ran during my pregnancy because it made me feel strong and empowered.  Yeah it burned calories too but I don’t think it’s a crime to run an extra mile because you had an extra scoop of Ben and Jerry’s.  Nobody is perfect.

I never really lost that focus on my weight and body image though.  I was determined not to gain more than 30 pounds and I “accomplished” that goal with Super Girl and Super Toddler.  The number on the scale was so important to me as it had been for years.  So even though I wasn’t bulimic anymore, I still cared so much about a silly number.  After I had them, I was frustrated my body didn’t just snap back to a version of me that never existed anyway.  Some Gisele Bundchen-esque figure with a 36 inch inseam and tiny waist.  I didn’t lose any sleep over it but I tried diets here and there hoping that I could get to my “ideal weight” of 130 pounds.  Never happened.

During this pregnancy, I really lost site of nutrition even though I was lifting and running a lot during the first two trimesters of the pregnancy.  I had so much anxiety because I didn’t know how we could handle three kids.  Also, I was worried I would have post partum depression again, as I did (really really badly) with Super Toddler.  So I ate my feelings, my old crutch.  I would joke with people about my Bojangles Baby, and I still do from time to time- okay, yesterday.  I rationalized that if I was working out that hard, I could eat whatever I wanted. I had been making that argument for YEARS.  I think it goes back to my swimming days in my teenage years when we quite literally could eat just about anything and never gain an ounce because we were burning so many calories each day.  But eating whatever I wanted wasn’t healthy for me or the baby.  And again, it was just a way I dealt with stress, as it always had been.

I watched the scale creep higher and higher each week.  When I delivered Super Girl, I had gained 38 pounds.  Wowzers.  I officially weighed more than Super Dad the last three weeks of my pregnancy.  And I delivered 3 weeks early.  So yeah, that’s kind of scary.  After having her, I have been focused on slowly getting back into my workouts because I was on bed rest for the last 6 weeks of the pregnancy.  But on the other hand, I would get so frustrated that the number on the scale has not just dropped by double digits every week.

I finally had an epiphany last week after Super Girl got on the scale three days in a row and asked me what her weight was.  She had been seeing me do it.  It broke my heart.  She wants to gain weight because she will be a “big girl,” but I don’t want the number to be something she obsesses over when she is old enough to care.  I don’t want her staring in the mirror examining her stomach or “Cabbage Patch Abs” as I call mine half-jokingly. I don’t want her to think that exercise is a means to an end of keeping her weight down or getting boys to like her.  I want her to feel empowered by sweating, the way I do every time I go on a run or finish a Crossfit workout.  When I was doing a WOD on Saturday, I felt strong even though it was only my second time back since Super Baby was born and I was lifting a lot less weight.  I felt hope for how much stronger I could get with each passing week.  I felt like my daughters would be proud of me not because of the number on the scale, or how my thighs don’t touch, or how much definition I hope to one day have on my stomach, but because I work out to be a better mom to them and a better wife and just a badass who loves herself.

I am not 100% comfortable with my body and I don’t know that I ever will be, but I’m getting there.  Being a mother has helped me realize that I can largely overcome the insecurities and issues that led to my eating disorder, because I would never ever wish that kind of torment on my children.  I just want them to see that eating and exercise do not have to be rewards or punishment, and that they can be strong and happy no matter what the number on the scale is. And that’s as real as it gets folks.

Recovery Mode

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Again, more TMI.  But then we move on to our regularly scheduled exercise-related programming…

Recovering from childbirth is what I imagine recovering from an Ironman would be like… it’s long and it requires patience or you can hurt yourself further.  Plus, it’s different for everyone, and for the same person it may vary depending on the particular race.  With Super Girl, there was a lot that nobody told me about what the immediate aftermath of childbirth would be like.  So, thanks a lot for nothing friends who had kids before me.  I was not prepared for the cramping or feeling like my insides were going to fall out with every step I took.   I started to feel more myself around a month and was back into my workout routine around 2 months postpartum. Recovery with Super Toddler was pretty similar, but a bit more difficult because I was on bed rest the last three weeks of my pregnancy. I was careful though, and eventually PR’d a 5k when he was 6 months old (21 minutes-ish).

With Super Baby, I had terrible cramping for a couple hours after she popped out.  Like, worse than my strongest pitocin-induced contractions.  Oh wait, I had an epidural.  Still, it was not enjoyable.  Once the pain meds kicked in I felt a lot better.  But I had to take 800 milligrams of Motrin a few times a day for over a week.  That didn’t seem normal.  Otherwise, I felt really good south of my waist.  It helped that this was my smallest baby though not by much, and with it being my third child my body seemed to be kinder to me.  I was going for walks within a few days and at around 10 days, thought I could actually run – but I didn’t.  I felt like this was the universe’s way for evening out how ridiculous the labor process went. Until…

At 12 days post partum, I woke up with very odd symptoms.  Like, check with Dr. Google odd.  Typically, when you consult Dr. Google, Web MD, Wrongdiagnosis.com, etc, you get about 821 different diagnoses and turn into a hypochondriac, and there’s a 99% chance that you don’t have any of those ailments.  For me, there was pretty much just one possibility. The next day I had the same symptoms so I called my doctor, who, after an ultrasound, confirmed that I had retained part of the placenta.  Gross.  On Super Baby’s 2 week birthday, I had to undergo a procedure under anesthesia to get everything cleared out, lest I bleed to death at home.  It really wasn’t a huge deal, until I lost a ton of blood on the operating table.  Whoops, so that was scary.  Fortunately, I narrowly avoided a transfusion although my doctor threatened me with an overnight stay to monitor my hemoglobin.  No thanks, I have a baby to attend to.

Since then, I took it easy for almost two weeks.  I was left severely anemic, which coupled with newborn sleep deprivation, has made me extra sleepy. I know right- so weird that losing a lot of blood and waking up every 3-5 hours makes me tired.  I have been taking iron and getting in as many naps as possible, and have gone to bed early every night which means I can’t watch Game of Thrones with Super Dad on Sunday nights when it airs.  So no spoilers on facebook people, I need my sleep.

On Monday, I went for my first run.  It lasted 5 minutes.  Later I thought my lady parts would fall out but it was just a side effect of the massive iron consumption (google it… I am not going to overshare that much).  Yesterday I ran for 10 minutes straight ( that was a mile.  Holy moly) and did five one minute “sprint” intervals.  And by sprint I mean running at about a 4 second per faster pace than my 10 minute jog. But I felt good, and I stopped myself before I was utterly cashed.  Plus, it was 90 degrees out.

Reigning it in is hard. I really want to head out tomorrow and run 20 minutes, then 30, then an hour, but I know that I have to be smart about it or I will hurt any number of organs or body parts that would not have been remotely affected by even a 2 hour run in the morning and an evening Crossfit beating in the past. Childbirth puts your body through the ringer, and just like there is pressure for endurance athletes to get back to training after a race, lest they lose the base they had built up after 6 months of heavy training, there is too much pressure on women to not only crush their workouts until hours before giving birth, but to return to “beast mode” before their milk comes in.  Too much? Sorry, not sorry.  It’s true.  I am done procreating, and have the rest of my life to run marathons, do an Ironman, learn how to do a muscle up pull-up, and Rx+ a WOD.  For now it’s all about keeping this tiny human alive, keeping myself from going insane (aka, sleep as much as possible), and being there to have fun with my other Super kids now that summer is here and the pool is open!

I may be contradicting myself in three weeks when I feel awesome and head back to Athletic Lab for some punishment, but for now, I am trying to be smart about my recovery mode.  Beast mode can wait.

 

Here is the gang at the pool this weekend:

pool

Cora’s Birth Story (AKA free birth control)

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I know I know, it’s been a while. But I have a really good excuse.  I had a baby.

So just a disclaimer: there is a LOT of TMI in here.  This isn’t really an exercise post, unless you consider giving birth exercise.  Which you will after reading this.  But you may also vomit.  Sorry about that.  

As a little background… My last post was when I was 24 weeks pregnant.  I was hoping to continue Crossfit and running for another 10 weeks but unfortunately, I developed hypertension and then preeclampsia around 30 weeks.  My last WOD was at 30 weeks and 2 days.  I crushed it, but it was not pretty.  My lunge jumps were what my coach called a “white man’s ‘Running Man'” and on my front squat set of 60kg, he also gently suggested I could switch to back squats at any time.  Translation: “your form really sucks.”  A couple days later I went to the OB and my blood pressure was 150/95.  Normal is 120/80 and I had been hovering around 110/65 for most of my pregnancy.  I was sent to the hospital for monitoring and was put on modified bed rest later in the week, which meant I couldn’t really exercise other than light walking, and I could work from home. 

The remainder of the pregnancy involved two visits to the OB each week for monitoring, and a couple more trips to the hospital.  I started “spilling protein” and having headaches around 32 weeks, which are additional symptoms of preeclampsia.  The goal was to keep Cora cooking until 35-36 weeks.  I received steroid shots to speed up her lung development (not to improve my deadlift PR).  I went through the same ordeal with Super Toddler but had to be hospitalized for a couple nights while he was in utero.  That was no bueno. 

At almost 37 weeks, my blood pressure spiked yet again and the headaches were worse.  This despite my being a sloth for almost 6 weeks and (sort of) watching my diet.  We won’t discuss my weight gain during this pregnancy.  It happened, it’s over, let’s move on.  My OB decided it was time for Cora to come out.  She was measuring over 38 weeks for height and head size – no big shocker there. I had put my hospital bag in the minivan that morning because I kind of knew that it was time. I had been contracting like crazy and was 1.5 cm a few days earlier.  I was having regular contractions at the doctor that day and was at 3cm so she also thought I may have been in the early stages of labor.

A note about that.  When I started dilating a couple weeks earlier, one of the OB’s told me that because this was my third child, I may not know when I’m in labor and that it would go really fast.  Like, have a baby on the toilet fast.  The prospect of having a baby without an epidural was terrifying.  Listen, props to all you natural ladies but that is not me.  Never. Ever. Ever.  So even though I have always wanted to have that “oops, my water broke!” moment and not have to bring a child into the world riding a wave of Pitocin, I was willing to trade going into labor on my own for not having a baby on the toilet.

I headed to the hospital with the knowledge that I would have to be on magnesium sulfate (“mag”) due to the preeclampsia diagnosis.  With Super Toddler, I was also induced right at 37 weeks due to preeclampsia but for some wonderful reason I was not giving mag.  I have read horror stories about it. Just google it. Mag is used to stop pre-term labor.  It is also used to prevent seizures, which is the risk with preeclampsia and high blood pressure.  Now re-read that sentence about stopping labor.  I was being induced, but I was also being given a drug that slows down labor.  Those don’t really go together do they?  I would soon learn exactly how much mag and pitocin don’t get along.

I was started on pitocin around 8pm and was feeling fine because the dose starts out really low.  Since I figured the baby would come really fast, I let our family know that we would be having a baby on tax day.  My mom, a CPA, was ready to work through the night to meet some tax filing deadlines, then rush over but I told her to wait because with Super Toddler, it took almost 48 HOURS.  That is 2 days people.  I knew that Cora was not going to fly out but I figured it would be faster than 2 days.  At 8:30pm the bolus of mag was started.  Within about 30 seconds, I thought that I was dying.  Really, really dying.  My teeth were sweating.  I was ready to vomit. I felt like I had been overserved at a frat party that was taking place on the surface of the sun, while wearing a suit made of fur.  I had this moment of “Oh my gosh it is going to be like this the entire time until the baby comes out? Because I cannot do this. I would rather give birth to octuplet elephants with no epidural after doing an Ironman.” My blood pressure plummeted to 70/30.  From about 140/90.  I am pretty sure that you are clinically dead when your BP is 70/30.  The nurse immediately stopped the bolus and called the doctor.  She said it was okay to just start a slow drip of the mag.  I felt better within minutes.  

At around midnight I was having more contractions and was at 4cm. I asked for my epidural because again, this baby was going to come “really fast” and I didn’t want to miss out on my window to have an epidural.  After I got my epidural I slept for eight zero hours.  I was too excited about meeting my daughter.  And I was sure that the next time the doctor checked I would be at 9cm.  Well, the sun rose and at 6:30 am the doctor checked me.  Still at 4cm. No change.  WHAT? That cannot be true.  Did you get a hand transplant overnight?  Do you now have a gigantic gorilla hand which makes you thing that a couple fingers is only 4 cm when it is in fact 10? I was so pissed.  They upped the pitocin some more and finally broke my water at 8 am.  

A few hours later I noticed my contractions hurt a lot more and I could do leg raises with my right leg.  Hmmm, that doesn’t seem normal.  The nurse suggested I get my epidural redone, because I wasn’t having very strong contractions (really? Because these hurt) and once I had contractions that caused me to progress more, I would be miserable.  Translation: I can see you are a huge wuss.  You are complaining about contractions that have caused absolutely no cervical change in 12 hours. So you will pretty much pass out once you have a legit contraction. Okay, let’s do this.  The new anesthesiologist discovered the prior epidural had sort of come out.  So it was a good idea I chose to have it redone.  Except that this anesthesiologist apparently was coming off a 72 hour shift because it took FIVE TRIES to get the epidural replaced.  FIVE. I threw up three times during this 30 minute ordeal.  I was ready for her to just pull the baby out of my throat.  It was miserable.

Once that mess was finished, I was sufficiently numb.  But then Cora decided to do some river dancing, and I started having back labor.  The spasms in my love handles were unreal.  Way worse than my tiny contractions. They were unrelenting.  I wanted more drugs.  Anything to make the pain stop. The nurse said there was nothing she could do. I finally found a position where I laid on my side, grabbed the love handle closest to the bed with one hand, and shoved a rolled up towel against the small of my back. I asked Super Dad and my mom to leave so I could catch a snooze since I hadn’t slept in 36 hours.  Plus, I had not dilated at all in 13 hours so I knew we had a while to go. Yeah, one cm an hour after your water breaks or whatever- lies!!!

After sleeping for four hours 45 minutes, I woke up feeling a lot of pressure “down there.”  But the love handle pain was gone.  Woohoo! I told the nurse and she said I had been contracting quite a bit during my slumber.  Like, actual contractions that are strong enough clinically to cause change.  Apparently they have to be over 60 somethings on the monitor to cause cervical change.  They had been 50-55 from 9pm the prior evening until my second epidural, which is a terrible tease, but after the second epidural/”jab Jen with giant needles fest” and upping the pitocin to levels reserved for Godzillas’s wife, the contractions were measuring around 90-100.  The nurse called in the doctor and lo and behold, I was at 10 cm and full effaced.  Cora was ready to rock. What? 6 cm in 45 minutes?  I had to actually call my family back from the cafeteria.  Sorry I interrupted your pie eating Super Dad.

I immediately put my contacts in and put some makeup on.  I was fat but I still wanted my face to look good.  Doctor R. came in and said I could start pushing whenever.  She was putting her gloves on and looking around for some stuff, and they were waiting for the peds team to come in, but I could start pushing?  What if the baby shot out onto the floor?  No worries, it took three contractions (
about 10 pushes) to get her out. Overall it was less than 10 minutes, compared to an hour of pushing with Super Girl and Super Toddler.  The thing is, it was the hardest 10 minutes of exercise ever and (the lump of skin and tissue which used to be) my biceps were super sore the next day. I was so out of shape from taking almost 7 weeks off from working out.  I ran five miles the day before I had Super Girl. I only had to bed rest for three weeks with Super Toddler. So 10 minutes of laborious (pun intended) physical activity was exhausting. But well worth it.

Cora, henceforth referred to as Super Baby, was born at 2:01 pm on 4/15 and she was perfect.  She had a full head of hair and started crying just like she was supposed to.  I was able to have skin to skin with her immediately and she latched on right away.  She measured 6 lbs 3 oz and 20.5 inches, just 2 ounces less than her big sister, who was born at 39 weeks gestation! So yeah, she was small for a due date baby but quite large for being early.  She had jaundice just like her siblings but we got through it a lot more easily by supplementing and getting her on phototherapy right away.  By 2 weeks she was up to 6 pounds 10 ounces, thanks to being a champion nurser, which I am not used to after having two kids who basically would only take pumped milk from 2 months on. 

Overall, my birth experience with Super Baby was not at all what I had planned when I started having children.  I joked that I was meant to raise cute, super funny kids that sleep and eat well (knock on wood)- but I was not meant to carry them or give birth. I wouldn’t trade these babies for anything, and going through mag and being poked like a voodoo doll by the anesthesiologist was worth it to bring her into this world… but I am most definitely NOT doing that ever again. The shop is closed.  And my experience on Super Baby’s 2 week birthday only further solidified that.  More on that later…

 

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