The Blessings of Complications, Part II

If you read last week's post, you'll remember that I promised a couple of posts reflecting on all the great blessings that came out of my difficult pregnancy with K.  Here goes blessing #2-- a serious change for the better in my physical fitness.

You know how I run races a couple times a year?  I can't tell you how many times when people learn that I'm a "runner" they say something along the line of "That's great that you like to run, I wish I did."  Well, let me take you back in time to the prehistoric age of my life-- to college, in fact.  There was a guy that I went on a few dates with, and I was straight up smitten.  There's no better way to put it.  He was cute, and he was a little bit older, and he seemed smart and confident and all that.  I remember having a conversation with him (these conversations probably only happen at BYU) where he was telling me what kinds of qualities he wanted in his future wife.  And one of those things was that he wanted her to be a runner so they could go out on runs together.  And I literally snorted-- yes, I did-- and told him that he could cross me off that list.  He laughed a little and said, "But you like to be active, Heidi!" and I responded with "Yes, but I DON'T run."  My intention was that having finished every PE class I was required to take I never intended to go for a jog, or even a short sprint, ever again.

In case that isn't clear enough, I loathed running.  Seriously despised it.

Now, I broke my resolution of never running again post-PE during my mission.  One of the girls I lived with really, really wanted to keep in shape and she was a runner.  But as a missionary you can't go out alone, so she needed someone to run with her.  It was a serious mark of how much I loved Taryn that I was willing to do that.  (Though I expect she was rather disappointed in me because I was a pathetic jogging partner.  I could barely make it a block before I was begging with tears in my eyes to stop.)

After that however, I was home free.  I wasn't anti-exercise.  I still loved playing rec softball when I got a chance.  Walking and hiking were great fun.  I had a little window of mountain biking before my bike fell to pieces.  And I did a LOT of workout videos over the years trying to keep my weight under control.

It didn't work.

With every pregnancy I gained just a little more weight that would not come back off no matter what diet I tried.  K was my eighth pregnancy.  Not only that, I had suffered through a horrific two year period of postpartum depression and a heartbreaking miscarriage at 11 weeks just prior to getting pregnant with K.  Both of those things had meant I was trying to cope with food.  Of course, coping with food means that the weight piles on, even when you are going to the gym and hitting the recumbent bike and throwing on exercise videos every other day during nap time.

So by the time I got pregnant with K I was at least 60 pounds heavier than when I got married.  Needless to say, it was not much fun.  And many of the health things that come with a lot of weight gain were starting to plague me.  Perhaps it shouldn't have come as a surprise that when I took my 2nd trimester nasty glucose test, I failed it so badly that the nurse called me first thing in the morning when the results came back and told me that I needed to pick up a glucose monitor at the pharmacy that afternoon and she wanted me to attend a class for moms with gestational diabetes in two days.

My reaction was straight up panic.  I couldn't do this!!!  They were asking me to prick myself with a needle four times a day and quit eating everything I depended on!  Apparently, K responded to my panic.  The very next day I ended up in the hospital with early labor.  I was 28 weeks along.  (Needless to say I missed my first diabetes class.  I was stuck in the hospital on a monitor and getting lots of shots.)

So not only did I end up facing 8 weeks of bedrest, I also had to face my fear of needles and tackle a very strict eating plan.  For heaven's sake, the nurse even insisted that I keep a food diary!!!  When I couldn't even get up and make my own meals!  It was a nightmare.  At first.  And then like everything else, that which you are forced to do regularly you get used to.  It got so that I didn't cry every time I had to poke myself.  I even got blase about it.  I got to be an expert at knowing which frozen dinner met my carb servings for which meals (I ate countless numbers of microwave dinners during this time.)  And even though I couldn't get any exercise at all, my weight started to drop.  It was worrisome to everyone at first, but I was getting super regular ultrasounds at this point (my doctor wanted to make sure K was fine if he did appear early) and he was still growing fine so we quit worrying about it.  By the time K was born I weighed 20 pounds less than I had pre-pregnancy.

Getting started like that had me on a roll.  Even though I had a brand new baby (and he was #4, so life was crazy hectic), I kept up the food diary.  I was downright eager about hitting the gym.  (Nothing like 8 weeks of being inactive to make you even excited to walk on a treadmill, which is one of the most boring forms of exercise ever invented!)  And I was so excited about these changes in my life that when Terence challenged me to train for that sprint triathlon back in 2009, I said what the heck, printed a training schedule, and threw myself into it.

And started to run.

Life has not been the same since.

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