First pelvis, now leg

I had this dream. A daydream. An image in my mind of what I thought it was going to be like. Like so many parenthood things, it’s not going to turn out how I had imagined. And it’s OK.

My dream was that I would have this picture of my daughter and I. Her as a baby and me as a sweaty, but beaming, new mom, marathon-finisher.  A picture she could have always. I was hoping to be inspirational. There she would be, on my hip, smiling at the camera with me. I wanted to do this when she was a baby. I don’t know why. It was a goal I set for myself when I was pregnant. I wanted to do a marathon shortly after she was born. I’ve done lots of marathons. This wouldn’t be much different, right? I wanted to do a marathon.  That’s what I set out to do.

The pros do it all the time, right? They run on their anti-gravity treadmills during pregnancy, decrease their mileage from 120 miles per week to a mere 90. They swim. They get pregnancy massages. They run on trails to decrease impact on their joints. They run the days their babies are born. They have the baby and then are running a week later, baby in the stroller happy as a clam, wearing only their sports bra to bare their amazing six pack abs. I can be like the pros, right?

So I chose my marathon: Twin Cities Marathon, 2012. Scout would be a little over 13 months old. Here goes the training.

I started running shortly after Scout was born. I had a pretty difficult labor & delivery which lead to a pretty torn (literally) up mama. I had nothing but confidence in my midwife after she delivered the most beautiful, healthy baby girl, during what was a dicey forty-one hours of labor. (Yep. Forty one hours. A marathon takes me around three and a half hours. That’ s nothing, I kept telling myself).After I hit the road for the first time, I quickly learned that my pelvic floor was not what it used to be. I couldn’t run more than a step (again, literally) before I would totally lose it. My bladder, that is.

I tend to be very open about most things. I probably share more than most people think is comfortable. I talked to a lot of people about it. I also posted online in my running moms Facebook group at length. Most women who I talked to, runners and non-runners alike, were able to relate. Please use caution while reading the rest of this if you are weak-stomached or if talking about pelvic floors makes you blush.

I am fortunate to work with other occupational therapists and physical therapists who know a lot. And since I overshare personal things at work, they pretty much all knew about the issues I was experiencing. My co-worker who specializes in women’s health referred me to a physical therapy clinic that specializes in women’s health—I overshare, but I was not comfortable being treated by a co-worker in these matters, nor did she want to treat me and then come back and sit next to me in our cubicles and do paperwork like she hadn’t just been all up in my business.

I learned quickly that it was not that my pelvic floor wasn’t strong. I did Kegels during pregnancy like it was my job. I did Kegels in the hospital bed the first night after my baby was born—my little lady screamed whenever we put her down, so I spent the first night with her sleeping in my arms, doing elevator Kegels, quick, quick, slow Kegels, etc.  

I was referred to a urologist who encouraged me to get a pubovaginal sling and then have my future babies via planned c-section. He was even emphasizing how easy and convenient c-sections are: “You get to choose your baby’s birthday!” I’ll avoid that if possible, thank you very much. Seriously. And we wonder why healthcare costs are out of control…I digress.

I finally made my way to a physical therapist where I learned that my pelvic floor muscles were working just fine and firing when they needed to. They fatigued more quickly than they should have, but they weren’t all that bad. The main culprit was my pelvis being in poor alignment. I had a host of muscular imbalances that had likely been in place long before I got pregnant. My hamstrings were too flexible, my left adductor was lengthened, my left gluteus medius was weak, my right gluteus maximus was too weak, my transverse abdominus was pretty much not working, and my left oblique was weak. My back was working way too much and was chronically tight due to the overuse.

I had stack of papers filled with PT exercises. I did them religiously most of the time. In the midst of training, working, mothering, etc. I did them when I could. I did them when I remembered. I could feel a difference and I felt like they were helping. The leaking had decreased but not gone away completely. I finished one of my 20-milers, dry as a bone! I was ecstatic.

While the pee problem hadn’t gone away completely, I was feeling pretty good about it. It was getting better. I was actually feeling prepared for this marathon. Then came another blow: It was a Thursday.  I was out for an easy 4-miler with the stroller on a perfect late summer evening. At about mile 3 and a half, I felt kind of a pop feeling in my left lower leg. I could barely walk, but since I was only about a half mile from home and I had the stroller to help keep me up, I hobbled home. I rested on Friday since my last 20-miler was the following Saturday. 3 weeks to marathon!

I planned on doing a 20-mile race for training. Running with a friend and a whole bunch of other people (likely training for the same marathon) around White Bear Lake twice sounded like more fun than running the same paths along the river as I always do. My leg hurt the first mile. It wasn’t unbearable yet. I kept thinking to myself, “If it doesn’t get any worse, I can make this happen.” Then shortly after the 1-mile mark, the pop happened again. I couldn’t walk without limping and trying not to bear any weight. I knew it wasn’t right. I limped back to the start line and threw some ice on it. It was swollen. Not bruised, just swollen. I knew in my heart of hearts that it wasn’t just something muscular. I got it checked out by a PT at work. She consulted with a friend of hers. Diagnosis: stress fracture. (Did I go see a doctor? No. I’m a stubborn person and a therapist at that. I’ll go in eventually if it doesn’t improve. I know what I need to do at this point. I don’t need a doctor to tell me that training for a marathon and breastfeeding wasn’t a good idea—most doctors aren’t runners.)

I applaud those moms who are back at it right away. I want to applaud every mom. Even those who are faced with a reality much different than they had imagined their comeback to be. Parenthood is hard. It’s unlike anything else. It will leave you in tears—both the good and the bad tears. Sometimes it will make you ugly cry.

The race is this weekend. The course runs just a few blocks from my house. I’m going to go watch—I really don’t have a choice if I want to leave my house at all! I’m going to be happy for those moms out there running. I’m going to be happy for everyone out there running. Watching them will remind me I can always do this. Maybe this year it’s not for me.  No picture of me and my baby at the finish line. There’s a part of me that is heartbroken. If I was a younger, more immature me, I would have been in the pool these last 3 weeks, and tried the marathon anyway, no matter the consequences. The new mom-me knows that there will be marathons in the future.

I’ll get that picture. She’ll always be my baby.