Run, Laura, Run

Seven weeks ago today I delivered Eve.  It was the first and last time I held my daughter and the most physically and emotionally challenging day of my life.  It has surprised me in the weeks since how much my emotions have had an effect on my body and vice versa.  I’ve always believed that the mind-body connection is strong but wasn’t sure if it would somehow be severed during the recent upheaval that has brought me to this current place in my life. The fact that I have found movement to be healing at a time when there is so much healing to do is comforting. It is good to know that what I have preached for so long still holds true when so many other beliefs have been severely altered.
During the first week after delivery I started with some gentle stretching and short walks which quickly turned into full yoga practices and long walks. Soon after I returned to running.
Though I run just about every day I have never really considered myself a runner. I rarely keep track of speed or distance and more often than not don’t really know where I am going to run to when I step out the door.
I used to worry if running was doing more harm than good. I’ve done the research and am well aware of the risks of constant repetitive impact on muscles and joints. I’m in the middle of reading “Born to Run” in which the author studies why some people can run safely while others are destined for injury. After weighing the risks I’ve come to the conclusion to acknowledge the risks and do it anyway.
The release I get from running trumps concern about potential injury right now. After my first run postpartum I told my husband I might just “Forrest Gump” it and run until I couldn’t anymore. All of the separate emotions that make up the larger entity of my grief fuel this desire to run. Fueled by anger my run is fast and furious. Out of despair it is slow and steady, complimented by sad music and sunglasses to camouflage the tears. Sometimes they are short, other times they are long. Sometimes I go with my dog, other times I go alone. When I am running I don’t have to make small talk with the neighborhood moms wearing their infants in a baby bjorn or pushing them in a stroller. I can speed up to a sprint when passing the playground where I’ll never get to push my little girl in a swing. When I am out running the clouds part for a bit and upon returning home the present seems more bearable and the future less daunting. What I’ve found most healing about running or any type of movement is that it makes me feel alive when most of the time I feel like a large part of me has died along with Eve.
One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned in the past seven weeks is that being careful only gets you so far. At one point I was sure that if I went above and beyond to have the healthiest pregnancy possible everything would turn out well in the end when in reality there were still many factors beyond my control. As much as running may be risky for my joints it is therapy for my mind and like Forrest Gump if my body says it’s time to turn around and go home I will do just that. For now I will keep on running and though I will never be pushing Eve in the jogging stroller we had purchased for her arrival I’ll forever be holding her in my heart.