On Sunday, I waddled through a half marathon. Returning to running seemed like a great way to mark my recovery from pregnancy and childbirth. My "training" regimen was sketchy, but I had hoped that pushing a 20-pound kid around in the jogging stroller would offset my low mileage.
In truth, I was prepared for a 10k race. Under ideal conditions, I could have put together a respectable 10-mile run. Somewhere along the 13.1 mile course, I reminded myself that one needs more than a positive attitude to run that far after giving birth 5 months previously.
In the end, I set a personal worst time of 2:53. In the final kilometer, I felt like my bladder dropped from my torso and rolled around underfoot. There are not enough kegel variations on the planet to prepare a woman's body for her first post-natal half-marathon.
Bad idea #2 took on a smaller scale, but was equally moronic. Anyone in Toronto today would have noticed the weather forecast calling for torrential rain. At 8:30 this morning, I ignored the sporadic raindrops as I pushed my stroller down Moore Avenue. BabyBear was tucked nicely under her rain cover and I felt protected by Goretex.
Within minutes, the heavens had opened and I was completely drenched. My yoga pants got heavier with each step, until the drawstring and my generously proportioned hips were no match for gravity. I walked the last 5 blocks clutching my pants in one hand and pushing the stroller with the other.
Upon arriving home, I let go of my pants to turn off the alarm and found myself nearly naked from the waist down. Mother Nature must have a sense of humour. Why else would she direct a gust of wind toward my open front door as my pants fell to the floor?
I've almost wiped my memory of the sight of power-walking retirees raising their hands in victory as they finished ahead of me on Sunday. Let's hope the neighbours soon forget the view of my backside they got this morning.
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