It's 13 minutes until midnight, so this can still count as a Fat Tuesdays, RIGHT?
I have a confession to make, that I have known for a while now, and it's time to write it down. Because honestly, I haven't been sleeping well, I find it hard to accomplish things I enjoy, my to do list seems never ending, and this blog has suffered. I'm currently going through a depressive episode. Major or minor is hard to say. I'm certainly not suicidal, but my struggles with anxiety have intensified and many of the things that bring me joy in life are difficult to accomplish. Also, there's another thing happening that is really altering my life in a variety of expected and unexpected ways : I'm pregnant.
(Everyone close to us already knows this, so if this announcement comes as a surprise, it's either because we're not friends yet or because you're not welcome in my life. What are you doing here lurker? Go away already.)
You may remember that I miscarried last year. Shortly thereafter, I tried to convince Adam to have a vasectomy, but he is six years younger than I, so he wasn't ready to put off becoming a parent. So I agreed we would continue not trying and just see what happens. I conceived very near November 26 and knew early in December what was happening, but I didn't take a test until after a tattoo appointment I had, so as not to cause ethical issues. (Or was not taking the test an ethical issue?) The day after, that test confirmed what I knew. But I waited for most of the first trimester because I knew the chance of miscarriage was high. I changed my eating habits and just waited patiently.
The waiting has been hard. The hardest part of this pregnancy is that everything is fine but everything feels weird and my anxiety levels are much higher than usual. I don't have a regular Doctor yet, because the first doctors I saw bullied and threatened me and as I was calling to find a new doctor, I received unwarranted lectures. Shit has not been going well on the Mental Health end. But I have an appointment Thursday, so I have hope!
Anyway, the point of this post is that I ran a half Marathon a few weeks ago (at 13 weeks pregnant) and I have a marathon scheduled in May. I just wrote out all of my training goals, and I'm slightly behind. Post half-marathon, Adam and I were on an epic road trip, and I didn't want to run after the marathon because vacation. Then it was a matter of trying to get back into, well, everything. Trying to get back into this blog. Trying to get back into my planner. Trying to sort out some sort of job situations since I'm currently not attending school. Trying to find doctors. Trying to accomplish items on my to do lists. I had about three days of awesome productivity and everything else has been a massive struggle.
Right now, it's cold and snowy in Ohio and the last thing I want to do is put on running gear and go out in this shit. Also, my boobs have grown so big that my sports bras are incredibly uncomfortable. Despite all of the awesome scare tactics about how being fat and pregnant guarantees complications that will probably nearly kill me, those threats don't really motivate me to run either.
I've had good runs, honestly. And the half marathon went well. I walked sooner than I wanted, but that's because it was 79 and humid as fuck! The weather, just like in my first marathon, greatly impacted my ability to keep up a pace...and honestly, heat exhaustion is just not worth it. So I walked, and I crossed the finish line feeling pretty good, and I got my medal, and I came home, and I told myself I would train for that marathon and I would not let growing a child stop me.
I have been reading all the posts about all the women who have completed half marathons and marathons throughout their pregnancies. And I have been telling myself that I can do it. I am capable and can train and I can do this. But if I'm being honest, I don't want to do it.
Maybe if my sports bras didn't hurt like hell right now, I'd be more into it. I really think that's a big factor. But also, as I've said before, running is not a cure-all. It's never really been backed by science that exercise helps with mental health, and there are studies to suggest that exercise doesn't really help depressed people. So it should come as no surprise that lying in bed tonight, trying to convince myself that any normal person would be ready to go to sleep by now, but feeling so much anxiety and total lack of gumption for my run tomorrow, that maybe this running shit is not actually helping my mental health.
I don't want to stop running. I just want to stop training.
So tomorrow, I'm going swimming. And maybe on Friday, I will go swimming again...or maybe I'll go for a run. It really depends on the weather. I am not feeling this shit right now. All I know is that I've got an e-mail to send about transferring my race admission to next year because I just don't want to train for a marathon right now.