Eleven weeks and counting.  That’s only about 29 more weeks to go.  As Bill says, “We’re practically there!” (He’s a glass-half-full type). 

The only noticeable change this week is my waistline.  My pants are definitely tight (although I think I’ll be able to squeeze a few more weeks out of them).  I’ve gained close to two pounds, which from what I’ve read, is right on track -- healthy and normal.  Still it’s a difficult adjustment and I’ve been battling some pretty mixed-up feelings this week. 

Since I started running (about age 25), I’ve never really had a problem managing my weight.  I eat pretty much whatever I want (although mostly healthy stuff) and then just run off the extra calories.  I’m now finding that watching the ol’ waistline expand and the numbers on the scale go up without quickly reacting by increasing my running mileage is a very hard thing to just accept. 

This is especially true when my doctors seem to take a different view on exercise than the physicians of my other pregnant friends.  Both of my doctors (even knowing that I'm an experienced distance runner) have had the same instructions -- "You can run, but no more than 40 minutes of easy exercise.  Don't get hot.  Don't get winded.  Drink lots of water."

My other pregnant friends have been allowed larger doses of daily exercise from their physicians.  Of the two of my other running friends who are pregnant, one was permitted to do triathlons when farther along than I am and Little Stevie #2's mom is still allowed to put in 40 miles per week.  And so when I hear they are having a difficult time exchanging 50 mile weeks for 40, I have a difficult time not feeling like a lazy and rapidly expanding sloth.  But I guess it’s all relative.  They are just now going through the bigger adjustment that I undertook a year ago.

You see, my running took the biggest cut about a year back (again on doctor’s advice) when we were having a difficult time getting pregnant.  I went from marathons and 50Ks to 7-10 mile long runs.  I watched what would have been my tenth consecutive Austin marathon from the curb and I played support crew as my friends ran other races in which I normally would have participated.  This was emotionally difficult for me (especially when the test was negative each month), but I was determined to do whatever was necessary to give this dream of Baby Kalahurka every possible chance of coming true.

And now it has, or at least we have a very tangible hope.  So I’m writing this as much as an affirmation to myself as anything.  If my doc had said it was okay for me to run 6 miles per day, I'd be limiting myself six miles (even if I knew that other docs advised less).  I'm sure it's all probably pretty safe (as long as you listen to your body when it tells you to stop).  Still, I know that if I ignored my own doctor's advice and something went wrong, I'd feel awful.  And so, no matter how chubby I get, I'm going to stick with his limitations.

I figure it's like this.  If having a little baby and the happiness of a real family means never running another marathon, it will be totally worth it.  It will also be worth it if I never fit into my “skinny” jeans again.  As Clea pointed out though, it’s really tough to remember these things now, when we don’t look or feel pregnant.  The reward for this sacrifice just doesn’t seem quite tangible or real when you can’t feel the baby moving and you only get to see it once a month in black and white on the ultrasound. 

My sincere expectation is that I will make a comeback as a runner.  It may take some time, but that is not a part of my life that I’m willing to give up without a determined comeback fight.  But for now, Steph. . . it’s “keep your eyes on the prize.”  Think baby smiles.  Think baby smells (well, maybe not poop).   I will continue my slow four mile jogs, veering off solo to my car as my friends continue on in the distance.  I will try to be more understanding and take it less personally when my friends are also going through difficult adjustments.  I knew that parts of this were not going to be a picnic.  I also know, however, that in the end it will be a totally amazing, unforgettable and worthwhile reward. 

As for consolation in the short term - I envision the ways that our enjoyment of running and our future family lives will blend.  It goes something like this.

• In about 23 years, Little Stevie #1 and Little Stevie #2 will announce that, instead of going straight to work after college, they are going to take 6 months off to hike the Appalachian Trial.  Most parents would go absolutely BIZERK at news like this, but the respective moms of Little Stevie #1 and Little Stevie #2 will totally understand why their kids would want to accomplish something that a lot of other parents would think is "crazy."  We'll tell them that there's plenty of time for work, and we'll eagerly offer to send care packages (including lots of bear repellant) to check points along the way.
   

• In about sixteen years, Clea is going to give Little Stevie #2 that talk entitled, "You Can Do Anything That You Set Your Mind To If You're Just Willing to Work for It."  Little Stevie #2 might be a little skeptical at first, but Clea will be able to back up her advice with the story about the time (or possibly times) that she ran 100 miles through the muddy hills of Vermont.  Kinda hard to argue with that. 
   

• In about 12 years, we'll be enjoying a fun post-race breakfast after a local 10-K, and everyone in the family will be wearing big grins and Finisher Medals.
   

• In about three of four years, Clea and I will be running our 12th or 13th Austin marathon together and we'll pass our families cheering on the sidelines.  They'll be holding up signs like this:

Now THAT's motivation!!

(P.S.  to Clea -- thanks for putting up with me :-)