I have run my last ten k’s. Over the last week or two I had started to feel like I was dragging a mac-truck behind me (and not a twelve centimetre foetus) and was somewhat worried a concerned driver was going to pull over and offer me a ride.
So, I’ve dropped back to seven and I can see five happening in the next few weeks or so. I should go and get back into the swimming pool, but if I think too hard about how much chlorine is in there and how many other bodies and all their body-ness are potentially floating around my own, I get all squeamish. Back in the day when I did train regularly I remember letting the water flow in and out of my mouth when we were doing our warm-up. The thought of that is now quite repulsive. Plus, I hate that you get out and you’re warm, but wet, and then you have to venture out into the cold air and shiver all the way home. Call me a wuss and you’d be right. But almost any event can be completely ruined by me being cold, so I try to avoid it at all costs.
So, even though I’m moving at tortoise pace, I’m sticking with the running…at least for now. I have been very naughty and avoiding baby yoga (I haven’t even been practicing my left nostril breathing, which apparently helps with anxiety and ‘could be the single most helpful thing I learn for my labour’ – which, to be honest, is concerning in itself).
I now have a little pooch to be proud of. Doesn’t quite resemble a peanut – or even a baby for that matter – and no one who doesn’t know has come up to me and mentioned the pregnant word, but something is well and truly there, the pants are a little tough to button and I’m starting to fill out my loose tops. I have to tell you, it is very exciting indeed.