So far, there hasn’t been too much about pregnancy that has surprised me (perhaps because I went into it with low expectations about how it would make me feel and the many discomforts it would entail). I was correct about many things: it’s not particularly enjoyable to grow increasingly larger by the week, I really do miss my nightly glass of wine, and maternity clothes are neither comfortable nor flattering. On the other hand, I guess I’ve had it relatively easy compared to some women I know or have heard about: I haven’t experienced a single bout of sickness, I have no strange food cravings or aversions, and my back doesn’t hurt (yet). Exactly six and half months in, the most unpleasant side effects with which I’ve had to deal include an unrelenting heart burn and a strange amount of peach fuzz on my stomach. (Everyone claims that the peach fuzz isn’t noticeable, but it seems to be all I notice, especially since my protruding stomach is pretty much all I can see when I look down these days.)
But the one thing that has most pleasantly surprised me about being pregnant is how great it feels to run. By this, I don’t mean that running feels particularly easy, or that I am enjoying the best running of my life. Running, unlike cycling, is significantly harder during pregnancy, likely for both physiological and psychological reasons. I’m sure it’s partly due do added weight (though not entirely, because my speed dropped early on and has since plateaued) and partly due to a pregnant woman’s innate carefulness to not push herself too hard. But whatever it is, my pace is definitely slower, and I’ve completely lost the ability to ramp up into fourth or fifth gear (and some days, first gear suits me just fine the whole way).
Despite the slower pace, though (which really just allows me to spend extra time in my favorite park), I have thus far been able to maintain better mileage than I would have previously thought possible. I ran 26.2 miles in one go at about six weeks, and since then I’ve kept up a steady tally of 25-40 weekly miles (it’s been creeping to the higher end in recent weeks with the loss of my cycling days). On most weekends I’ve put in 10-12 mile long runs and, though I occasionally have to take an extra “natural break” along the way, this isn’t much less than I would normally aim for during my “off season.” Sure, I’m running every mile more slowly than I have in years, but I don’t mind. My focus these days is on trying to maintain my fitness as much as possible; knowing that I can’t go fast, I figure that consistent, steady running is just as beneficial.
But the thing that has really surprised me is how great running feels relative to every other moment in my day. Whether I’m heading uphill, downhill, or across a flat, and even at 9+ minute miles, running feels superior to sitting, standing, or lying down. It’s strange, but true: I feel lighter and less pregnant when I’m running! My mid-section feels taught and like it’s working with me, not against me. Of course, I’ve had the occasional cramp across my lower abdomen and my bladder feels slightly compressed. But I feel much, much worse sitting at my desk trying to find a suitable way to cross my legs, or watching tv at night and struggling to breathe properly under the pressure of my stomach, or lying in bed and feeling my hips complain after being forced to bear my weight all night long.
Occasionally, especially in the last few weeks, I catch a glimpse of my shadow or reflected profile in a store window, and I can see that I look anything but my usual self. But I like to think that most of the other runners I pass every day don’t really notice, and that I blend right in with the Central Park crowd. (Certainly I’ve been fortunate to have avoided even a single comment that I “shouldn’t be doing that,” which is perhaps because New Yorkers are accustomed to seeing it all, but is also somewhat surprising since New Yorkers are not known for their ability to keep their opinions to themselves, either.) Though pregnancy has lived up to my (sometimes low) expectations in many ways, there is one consequence I never anticipated: running while pregnant is the surest way to feel anything but.
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