They say, “Run through the summer to reap the benefits in the fall!” But I spent my summer months running (sort of), slowing WAY down, and coming to the realization that as (or, if) the weather got cooler, and my tiny human got bigger, this would actually only get harder.
I’m almost in the third trimester.
Today was one of a handful of days cool enough for a long sleeve, with shorts, and a slight chill at the start. I’ve been running up to two or three times a week—no more, often less. I don’t run for fitness, because there’s little to be gained. I’m not training for a race, because I don’t know when my body will decide it has had enough. I’m not running any more than three to five miles, because that’s what feels comfortable, or at least doable, on most days.
I run because it provides a sense of normalcy.
Most things in my life are not normal right now.
My work is always changing, because I own a growing private practice for nutrition and writing, and make impulsive decisions to launch big projectswhile also planning for an eventual self-paid (or not) “maternity leave.”
Our house is a disaster because we decided to gut most of it and change it from the inside out.
My commute to THE coffee shop—the one where they started giving me three stamps for every one cup of coffee on my frequent-buyer card—is virtually nonexistent. See also: house disaster.
My body is growing a tiny human. So, that’s definitely new. I get all kinds of “your baby is the size of this random food!” updates, but one week they also threw in the “your uterus is the size of a soccer ball!” and I was like, THAT IS NOT A FUN FACT.
My appetite was changing by the day, but seems to have settled. The process of learning to eat intuitively has saved me a lot of angst, and taught me a lot of new lessons.
The temperatures are finally starting to hint at change, and the leaves have followed suit.