8th August 2011
I woke up today convinced that something was wrong. My impressive new bust (so very inconvenient for running!) wasn’t as sore as it has been. Rather than feeling pleased, I spent the best part of the day worrying. How relieved I was when my ‘afternoon sickness’ finally made an appearance!
I didn’t run yesterday. I cycled instead, but it never seems as virtuous or as satisfying as a run. So, feeling a bit guilty and having been reassured by my post-lunch queasiness, I decided that it would be ok to go for a run this evening. Now, I’ve had some REALLY rubbish runs since I became pregnant, but this one wasn’t too bad. I only had one loo stop for a start – usually it’s two, and I felt like I was running on my own legs for a change and not an ill fitting pair I’d borrowed from the world’s most uncoordinated donkey. Anyway – it was reasonable! The minute I got home, however, my anxieties pounced. Should I have gone running? Did I run too hard? Have I damaged the baby?
I remember all this from the first time round. My son, now 7, was quite the acrobat in utero! After a run, however, he was always really still and, rather than enjoy the peace, I’d worry until he woke up and started somersaulting again. Thinking about it, not much has changed since he was born – perhaps I’m just the anxious type.
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