I decided to wear the anti-mom outfit on Mother’s Day. You know, the kind with the super cute skirt that restricts my stride just enough to make it slightly annoying – but completely bearable because, well, it’s super cute. And the heels that I can walk well enough in, but only because I brought another pair to change into when my feet started hurting. And the blouse that makes me think for a minute or two before I can decide on the best way to nurse my baby while still wearing it. That kind of outfit.
I felt great in it. I really did. Even as I tottered down 2 flights of stairs with a baby on my hip to dispose of a dirty diaper, my thought was totally worth it. If I have to endure Mother’s Day, I might as well do it feeling like a woman and not a frumpy mess.
But I had second thoughts about it being worth it later in the day, long after the heels had been put away and the skirt discarded in favor of something more “family friendly,” when my IT band let me know it didn’t appreciate my wardrobe. This was especially discouraging because I’d been on a 4 mile (very very very very very rainy: see photo above) run earlier in the week in which I had hardly felt it at all. And after walking for miles on Saturday and test driving a couple of bikes with no pain, I had almost convinced myself that I was healed and good to resume normal training.
I was wrong. I’m not exactly back to square one, but . . . sigh . . . I’m still injured. I’m swearing off heels for a while. And buddying up with my waterbottle/roller. And getting up with Micah to get our trash kicked by jump squats and burpees. And still running when my mental health depends on it. Like it did this morning.
I’ve got 4 weeks until that half-marathon. The only goal right now is to be pain-free at the start line.