After scouring the internet for pretty much the last five months, I’ve come to the following conclusion: there are a lot of horrible options out there for maternity running gear. (It turns out cutting the belly out of my running shorts is not going to be a viable long-term solution. I had to cut so much out, there wasn’t enough waistband left to hold them up. C’est la vie.)
I tried to sag/fold my shorts down low enough to fall just under my belly, but it looked kind of obscene (my belly would hang out from under the bottom of my shirt) and it wasn’t all that comfortable.
Tangent: There is a time and a place for exposing your veiny, white pregnant belly to everyone in your neighborhood and that time is never. I am more than happy to “embrace the bump” – an expression I abhor, by the way – from the privacy and comfort of my own home, thank you very much. (I will, however, swim in a bikini at the gym simply because they don’t make a sporty maternity bathing suit that doesn’t cost eleventy jillion dollars, and because, pregnant or not, tankinis make you look like a lamp shade.)
Anyway, where was I?
Oh, running shorts.
So I tried wearing shorts that were a couple sizes too big, but they just billowed all around me like a parachute and rode up the crack of my ass until it felt like there was more short inside of me than around me. (And the shorts didn’t even buy me dinner first. Rude.)
For a while, I even wore a running skirt (shut up) I got on clearance at Dicks for a Halloween costume that never panned out, and ASIDE FROM BEING A RUNNING SKIRT, it was actually fantastic. It was really the skirt’s liner shorts that had me at
OHAIURFAT hello — they were loose enough to accommodate the belly, but snug enough to not ride up. The outer skirt was just a consequence. But now I’ve grown out of that one too, and well, I just can’t bring myself to BUY another running skirt. Because come on.
Finally, I found some compression shorts (again on clearance; seriously, if you buy stuff at full price, you’re a sucker) that are just about perfect. They’re BIG, but they’re still snug enough to stay put and not wedge up my ass. (I also absolutely ADORE the Nike Pro Combat compression shorts but they’re way too small for me to wear outside of the house. Just trust me on this.)
Anygeeisitsofuntrotryandfitmyfatassintoshortsthatdontfitme, over the weekend I managed to do some good running (read: good for me; read: mediocre running; read: any running is good running these days) without dying or killing the fetus. Whoop. Eye-roll.
Saturday, I got up early enough to beat the stifling heat and waddled off to the gym for a treadmill session. (It’s no longer the dreadmill to me; it’s the brilliantmill.) So in addition to my half-mile run-waddle to and from the gym, I did about 25 minutes on the treadmill and also managed to lift some weights and thrash around in the pool for a while.
Sunday, the stupid gym doesn’t open until 11:00 (as a Christian organization, the YMCA has some silly notion about allowing their staff time to attend church. I know, so selfish.) So I killed time at home by doing my modified-for-pregnancy version of Jillian’s No More Trouble Zones workout. (Basically: you eliminate core work, eliminate jumping jacks, cut each set in half and also don’t do anything too bendy or lifty. And stop whenever you feel like it.)
So I finally run-waddle off to the gym, where the nice lady at the front desk tells me it’s not quite 11:00 yet and I have to wait. (Glance at the digital clock on the wall: 10:59. Yes, I am serious.) She then turns away and stares pleasantly into nothingness until the digital numbers change to 11:00, at which time she turns and smiles, holds out her hand for my membership card and allows me to pass.
Anyone else remembering that scene from Meet the Parents, where Ben Stiller is the only person standing at the gate, but the flight attendant refuses to let him on until she calls his boarding group?
Anyway, I swam (read: splashed around like a walrus; read: kicked and jabbed my way from one end of the pool to the other; read: pantomimed a seizure in the pool) for about 30 minutes and then run-waddled home again.
And I felt pretty damn good about myself.
But it doesn’t really matter because I have a feeling I won’t be running anywhere for much longer. It’s not the running part so much as the aching and stiffness I get in my nether regions as soon as I’m done running. (And it’s not my uterus that’s aching, it’s my pelvic bone and pelvic floor muscles that are aching under the weight of my gigantic uterus. So relax and don’t send me hatemail.)
I won’t get into too much because this is a family blog (lol), but just think about getting kicked real hard in the crotch and that is what it feels like. I would like to commiserate about it with other pregnant runners, but I really don’t know any well enough to be like, “so hey, does your crotch ever hurt after you run at all?”
I don’t know where I’m going with this…except, hey, does your crotch ever hurt after you run at all?