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| Fiona at the 1.5 mile marker on Duke's East Campus path |
On November 1, 2008 I crossed a finish line that took more than two years to reach.
Finishing the Beach 2 Battleship Half-Iron Triathlon was the culmination of hundreds of hours of training – sometimes running, biking, swimming, lifting weights, and practicing yoga upwards of 14, 15, 16+ hours a week. Through the process of becoming a triathlete, I reaped the rewards of patience and persistence. I worked hard and did things I before had never truly thought possible for me. I made great friends, experienced real joy, and had a tremendous amount of fun.
On November 13, 2008 I learned I was pregnant with Fiona and my newest endurance journey began.
After completing such an intense couple of training years, I enjoyed the forced respite that pregnancy in many ways provided. I exercised moderately throughout my entire pregnancy, including a long hike and hour-long swim with my sister the day before Fiona was born! Only very occasionally did I long for running really hard or biking for hours. For the most part, I trusted that I would have those opportunities again - but now was not that time.
After Fi was born, I quickly started walking – and then running – with her. I registered for my first post-partum race, trained, and loved running every (slow) second of it. Two months later, I ran a second, equally enjoyable race.
And then it all just got really hard.
I was back working full-time. I hadn’t yet recovered from the severe sleep deprivation of those first 7 months (not sure, I have yet either) when Fiona was still waking for night feedings. I was breastfeeding, which required that I not be away from Fiona for long (or have to add dreaded pumping sessions to the 3 I was already doing every day). I felt incredibly guilty leaving the house to run while Fiona was awake, which left very small windows of training opportunity. And because it was winter, the hours for daylight running outside were limited.
I was setting the alarm for 5 am, rushing to the gym for 30 minutes of silent pre-dawn treadmill time, rushing home to greet Fiona as she woke (or greeting my husband anxiously distracting a hungry baby if she decided to be an even earlier riser than usual), feeding my daughter with sweat still dripping down every inch of my body, showering, eating, playing, and arriving at work at 8 am completely exhausted.
No joy. No fun. Not worth it.
So, I stopped. Not intentionally, really. 5 am just started coming earlier, the snooze alarm seemed more within reach – and without a focused goal ahead of me, my motivation seriously waned.
Then something magic happened: Fiona’s waking & eating, my work schedule, and the sun all aligned – and I figured out how to run with her before going to work in the mornings
No guilt. No rushing. No exhaustion (well…).
I didn’t do anything differently except wait and accept and adapt. Three actions that reflect the kind of parent I’m learning I want to be – patient, understanding, and generally able to roll with whatever comes my way.
I still try to give myself the gift of solo long runs on the weekends, but for the most part, if I’m running during the week right now, I’m doing it with my daughter. I’ve traded speed work and hill repeats for a 22-pound, pajama-clad training partner.
We high-five. We chat about the day ahead. We wave hello and goodbye to our neighbors. We notice our surroundings and practice words: Do you see that big DOG, Fiona? What a pretty red BIRD that is! I have my water bottle and she has her sippy cup.
Based on what I’ve learned throughout this inaugural parent year, these morning runs may not last. The seasons will change. Fiona might sleep longer. She may wake up one day and hate the stroller.
But, for now it’s our time.
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