tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31363431224482253422024-03-13T04:33:09.060+01:00Running AroundUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger79125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3136343122448225342.post-65810393845192638212012-10-04T15:18:00.002+02:002012-10-04T15:32:07.376+02:00PW report - Or Was It a PB?<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The good
thing with me is that I am reliable. It means that, when I said that I would
post about my race, I will. It may just take two years… </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 8.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">by
which point nobody cares, if ever they had in the first place</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">. It also means that, if I share my
training plans with you and swear it is fool-proof, you can be sure it has been
tried and tested, and it works. I am also opinionated, so when training for a PW,
will stick to it, no matter how hard, no matter what it takes. So without
further due (and only a week late), here goes the PW report.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Since I wanted
to make sure I would not screw my attempt at a PW (you never do, the opportunity
may not arise again any time soon), my pre-10K race week went something like
this: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On
Saturday, despite feeling already very flu-ish and immensely, IMMENSELY tired,
signed up for the race. I was in town, getting a birthday present in the local running
shop for a friend recently hooked on running. I had been hesitating for the
last two weeks, but there, with the entry form on the check-out counter, I just
could not resist: being there was a sign I had to (pun intended) <i>sign</i> up. Yes I was ill, yes I
had probably slept the grand total 40 hours in three weeks. And for those
already getting their calculator out, yes, that’s an average of 2 hours an night,
and yes again, it is probably not enough to be qualified as a healthy living).
Oh, and yes I know, even I don’t always make smart moves.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On Sunday, went for a flat run by the lake,
trying to convince myself that sweating through it was the best way to get rid
of my cold. Pace was OK but run confirmed what I suspected: kilometers are longer
when ill. Oh, and in case that was not unfair enough, minutes are made up of
more than 60 seconds, too.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On Monday
and Tuesday, as a result of feeling too weak, no runs. And just in case that
may have helped me to recover slightly before race day, I started my first
“real” week of work as a freelancer (real as in : seriously-at-my-desk- with-my-computer-and-a-cup-of-coffee,
instead of breastfeeding-with-my-daughter-on-one-knee-and-my-laptop-on-the-other),
which meant even less sleep.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On
Wednesday, I was supposed to go for a run with a local running club, something
I had been thinking about doing for the last 4.5 years. Instead, ended up at
home with a husband back from work early with migraine and had to deal with an incapacitated
husband, two kids still too young to understand that when that’s the case, a quiet
environment is requested, and my own frustrated self (admittedly by far the
toughest of the four to deal with).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On
Thursday, describing how I felt by saying “a bit low on energy” would have been
a massive understatement, but I did feel compelled to go for a short run anyhow.
Ended up running 40 minutes after the kids were put to bed, by the light of my
headtorch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ran at a reasonable pace but
felt I did not have much left in me when I stopped. Since my (by then already
revised) goal for that 10K was a sub-40min finish, was hoping that the
adrenaline on D-Day would help me stick to a more sustained pace for the same
amount of time on D-Day, no matter how ill and tired.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On Friday,
since N°2 was at home with me, decided to take her for a run with me, and
noticed that the Chariot’s weight had mysteriously (and significantly)
increased since the last time I had used it, so heavy was it to push. Did 40
minutes anyway, but felt very tired.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On
Saturday, swapped the 4 miles initially planned for that day for a “is there
any point in doing that race tomorrow?” session, on the coach. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On Saturday
night, N°1 slept through the night for the first time in 3 weeks. Very well
then – except N°2 did not… for the first time in 4 months. She woke up at 3am, I
did not.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And that’s
where you get the good news.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At the
start on Sunday morning, I lined up by the 40min sign, thinking I may just be
able to finish a few seconds below the shameful 40s. As soon as the gun went
off and I started running, I could tell this was going to be hard. I just had <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">no</i> energy to push. Nothing. Zip. Today,
there was no way I could hold a sub 4:00 min/km for 10K, so I decided to stick
to 4:00, a pace I can normally sustain (for a while at least) while <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">training</i>. After the KM4 marker however, it
became clear than even 4:00 would be too ambitious. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At KM5, as
planned, Husband was waiting for me with Kids N°1 and 2.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFaqAS3JIctbzTXpwDT34HhUp6sVyziwKkOfmpPM8aHfhJM7_1NEutvsPAv0lsSPI7g595jP6RKanTZR5e75wFR-sPR23nsCS3Ca-7bs-d64Ib8UEHjn-T4VVLhsMrIYkFxLSY9jfKiEYW/s1600/024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFaqAS3JIctbzTXpwDT34HhUp6sVyziwKkOfmpPM8aHfhJM7_1NEutvsPAv0lsSPI7g595jP6RKanTZR5e75wFR-sPR23nsCS3Ca-7bs-d64Ib8UEHjn-T4VVLhsMrIYkFxLSY9jfKiEYW/s320/024.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Clearly thinking that, like the leading runner (who, in passing, will finish in an honourable sub-00:30:00), his mum deserved a motorbike escort, Kid N°1 started riding
next to me on his push bike. Scared he would be knocked over, I shouted to
him he could not come with me, the result being he was in tears and could still
hear him cry several dozen meters after I had passed them. Today was clearly going
to be my day, proving my skills at being both (and simultaneously, no less) a
crap runner <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and</i> a bad mother. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From KM 6,
I was running between 4:20-4:30, in other words, training pace, and there was
no way I could go faster. It was actually a very weird feeling: it is not like
my legs were hurting or my breath too short. No, I just had no energy in me,
nothing at all to help me accelerate even a tiny bit, even if my mind
definitely wanted to, even when I saw, from the corner of my eye, a girl about
to overtake me less than 200m from the finish line. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Result : <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">00:43:24</b> –in bold so that those who
came across this post only because they googled my name while trying to get
confirmation I am an appalling runner will be spared the work of going though
this (as usual rather) long post. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">00:43:24</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> : pretty bad, hey, for somebody who had
initially hopes for something close to 00:39:00, then thought it more realistic
to lower her expectations to 00:40:00! It is so bad in fact that, had I indeed
finished in 00:40:something, I may have been tempted not to write about it in
the hope that nobody would notice, but 00:43:24 is just so far from my worst
expectations that it is funny… in a somehow masochist and perverse way. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And there
you are asking : so where the hell is the good news? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The goods
news is that I survived the shame and am here to talk about it and say: have a
really bad PW and sure, you’ll have to live in hiding for the rest of your life,
but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you won’t die</i>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Only joking.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">real</i> good news is that, for the first
time in my running life, and maybe even for (one of the) first times in my
life-full-stop, I accepted a situation as it was, no matter how sub-optimal.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yes, I was
close to a physical wreck. Yes, I would not be able to perform like I normally
should. Yes, I had all reasons to feel very sorry for myself that, for my first
race in a long time, I would not be where I wanted to be. Oh, and did I mention
how embarrassing it would be that somebody happens to goggle my name, tumble
across my poor performance, and think that I am that<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>slow a runner? A 40’ something 10K time for –
gasp - the whole world to see? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Instead, on
that Saturday night, I was feeling (kind of) OK with the idea that this would
not be the sub-40’ 10K I had expected. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
since I had signed up (and paid for) it, I would just go, and at least get the
t-shirt.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And in the
end I did gain more than a t-shirt. By gain, I am not talking about prize money
(since the female race record is 00:33:28, I am under no illusion it will never
fall into my lap, even on a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">exceptionally
good</i> good day), but about benefiting from the crash course in accepting one
is not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">always</i> at the top of ones
ability and conditions not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">always</i>
optimal. In a nutshell and as I was reminded recently by somebody who knows me
well, we’re not (always) “living in the world of Care Bears”… and I better get
on with it and start accepting that (admittedly distressing) fact.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Call me a
masochist, but I actually felt good, mentally if not physically, last Sunday. I
did not decide against going. I did not quit (my previous self would not have
either, once decided to be on the start line, but may have walked when it
became obvious my body was just not responding). I felt happy to have my two
kids cheering me up on the side (even if my way to show gratitude was to make
one cry). I focused on how I was going to finish, no matter how slowly, instead
of on how hard it felt. And it was not like I see myself as a 10K runner, and
this particular one was the key event of my season, was it? Indeed not, except
I normally would have felt crushed anyhow.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Most of
all, I focused on the fact I had <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">chosen</i>
to be there. And I was there because I love running, and that this did not
change only because I had a PW. I started the race determined not to let
negative thoughts creep in, and, guess what, it worked!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I recently
read “Born to run”, and if I had only one takeaway to remember from this book,
it is about the relation between performance and enjoyment (well, Mc Dougall
may have not formulated it this way, but that’s what I decided to remember from
my reading). It definitely worked for me my best races so far (admittedly as
somebody who does not race often), two trail races where <a href="http://mapp-running-around.blogspot.fr/2010/10/miss-and-hit.html">I finished 1<sup>st</sup></a>
and <a href="http://mapp-running-around.blogspot.fr/2011/09/race-report-and-bit-more-some-rain-some.html">3<sup>rd</sup> lady</a>, were the ones I ran feeling happy to be there, and was
able not to let negative thoughts settling in.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And there is, of course, the added bonus I got to run with my big boy for an additional kilometre, if not the fastest, at least the most fun of the day.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhymLPxoDi5BX3Xvv9loMT-6Gjvn6vVDeyjmzpk6D2X4PQRsMzZe4ahQpL4OiOru5YNDlh-fKz28VitvS0r8XwArWH0OnM-d738oZZKWOnmt-vKgF00aalj3r4un404F3VYjpnwcQMW4ozi/s1600/028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhymLPxoDi5BX3Xvv9loMT-6Gjvn6vVDeyjmzpk6D2X4PQRsMzZe4ahQpL4OiOru5YNDlh-fKz28VitvS0r8XwArWH0OnM-d738oZZKWOnmt-vKgF00aalj3r4un404F3VYjpnwcQMW4ozi/s320/028.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From here
to saying my PW was actually a (mental) PB is a gap I am bridging… at sub-4:00 pace.
</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3136343122448225342.post-89067812724693317162012-09-26T15:38:00.000+02:002012-09-26T19:51:42.398+02:00PW - The Unfailing Recipe<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Look at the
best way to get a PB (Personal Best, for the non-runner reader who somehow
would have by some mysterious way landed on this blog) and you’ll find dozens
of books, articles, websites, blog posts, coaches, <i><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-style: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">dietitians</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, </i>pseudo-gurus telling you how to do it
(and ideally charging you a hefty fee for it).</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Look now at
how to get a Personal Worst, or PW, and you are left figuring it out all on
your own. There is no way round it, when it really does matter, people are
selfish and keep their secrets for themselves. Well, since I have today become
a (admittedly self proclaimed) expert on the topic, I thought I would be a
sport (ah ah) and share my newly acquired wisdom. For free - that’s how cool I
am.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The first,
almost unavoidable thing is that you need to have kid(s). One is OK, several is
much better. Then you need at least one, but again, ideally several, of the
following ingredients:</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">- Your kid
starting school and being not quite ok yet with the idea. As a result, he will
wake up several times a night, because he wants to pee, or the wolf is trying
to eat his belly, or a truck has waken him up, or he wants to see the stars, or
he just wants you to sleep next to him, or him next to you (the order does
matter, as the result will be the same: you won’t sleep). Since he will wake up
several times a night, so will you. The main difference between you and him is
that he will (most of the time) quickly get back to sleep (until he wakes up
again, that is), but you won’t.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">- That’s when
having a second kid comes handy. Should N°1 fail to throw a tantrum in the
middle of the night, N°2 will volunteer to help and decide to wake up, say,
around 3am, when you find it most difficult to fall asleep again, and ideally
the night before the race. If, like our N°2, she usually <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">never</i> wakes up at night, even better: it adds mental
destabilization to your feeling of immense physical tiredness</span>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">- Make sure
you choose children whose weak point is ENT. That way N°1 has a runny nose
after half a day of school despite the fact he has not been ill for the past
two (spent at home) months, N°2 follows two days later, and dutifully makes sure
you end up ill as well. Except that, unlike your children who seem to get
better in less than a week, you end up, three weeks later and on the eve of the
race, still ill, still not able to breathe properly, which –isn’t that weird - is
less than optimal for running.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">- Oh, and
make sure you’re still breastfeeding too, so that you can’t take <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">any</i> medicine to help getting rid of that
cold. And by “not any”, I mean just that. The nose spray the pediatrician gave
N°2, which you (clearly naively) thought made it safe for you to take (if she
inhales it directly, it should be ok to get a micron of it in breast milk,
right?), reads on the notice : “avoid taking while breastfeeding”. Homeopathy?
Shame that what is most efficient for colds is also what works best if ever you
want to dry her only source of food, your boobs, out…</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For good
measure, start your business at the same time kids are starting school <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and</i> day care <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and</i> are ill. That way, even if you had a bit of time and energy
left for any training runs, you’ll make sure these are the shortest runs and
best junk miles you’ve ever done.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Also, do NOT do
any specific training such as speed work, intervals or tempo runs. And to make
sure you stick to this plan even though you may be tempted to train properly,
make sure that you almost only have time for runs after the kids are in bed <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and</i> it is pitch black outside <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and</i> you live in the countryside with no
street lighting but plenty of crazy drivers. If you can live somewhere
mountainous with no flat stretch longer than a few yards, even better : it is
the worst terrain to train for a flat 10K.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Of course,
you can try for a PW even if you’re child-free. But let’s face it, sticking to
the plan will be harder. You may for instance try to go out every single night
for three weeks prior to the race to make sure you’re a wreck. You may lock
your running shoes for the same period so that you don’t get any proper
training done in the hope your legs will feel like lead on race day. But let’s
face it, you’re very likely to cave in to the runner’s most basic instincts,
and sooner rather than later start getting enough sleep, eat healthily again and
start lacing up your running shoes to sneak one in every other day. That’s
where having kids comes handy, as a kid is the best – as in, toughest - personal
trainer, who will show no pity and unlimited personal commitment when it comes
to helping you achieving your goal of a PW. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Still doubtful?
Still in need of some evidence the recipe works? Wait until the next episode,
where, strictly for the benefit of science, I put the method to test…</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3136343122448225342.post-24645587466966329072012-09-15T16:29:00.001+02:002012-09-16T09:51:29.167+02:00It Is a Tough World Out There<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</xml><![endif]--><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Shame they
don’t tell you before you have kids how the first days (weeks? Years?) of
school are going to be like, because I would have enrolled on a training camp
to toughen up. Or, better still, decide to hibernate, leave the husband deal with it, and wake
up when it is time for summer holiday again. I may not have opted for the smartest
thing to do when one is so bad at handling the drama involved, namely not to have a
kid at all, but that’s only because I am not wise enough. </span><br />
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">To cut a
(few days) long story short, things have not gone too well, school-wise, so
far. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We did
everything right, that is, before school effectively started and everything went pear
shape. The list of things to bring had been carefully read, stuff bought and
items crossed. Clothes had been tagged (admittedly in the night prior to the
first day of school, but tagged anyhow). Cheerful comments about how big a boy
N°1 now was and how excited it was that he would now be going to school. Visit
to the hairdresser done. We even managed a shot of the four of us by the house, cheerfully leaving home for
school on that first day.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghl0sdpmnVjGg2hq-7JVZv6ovIj3jmivhX9XKKvRoNbkFDF5KAxu2OIONP6WUMzaPHrVyyA0eb0NmrXrhI15gFEsFu-oPIHyAhIZ1VV5vr9XfshkLgIvpIPridPxrrjMlW-w5xsNHNG8HX/s1600/012+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghl0sdpmnVjGg2hq-7JVZv6ovIj3jmivhX9XKKvRoNbkFDF5KAxu2OIONP6WUMzaPHrVyyA0eb0NmrXrhI15gFEsFu-oPIHyAhIZ1VV5vr9XfshkLgIvpIPridPxrrjMlW-w5xsNHNG8HX/s320/012+(2).JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and also a shot of the two of us looking relax and happy (I am the queen of faking)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A few minutes later, "cheerful" was a word which had been crossed out of our home dictionary.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I am lying a tiny bit since first school-day
was actually OK (ish), but that's not saying much since the first day was actually one hour,
half of which I spent at school with n°1.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On day 2, The
Dad called me after having dropped Kid n°1 at school, to let me know n°1 was crying
his head off when he left, and had said, unprompted, on the way to school that “really,
he did not mind being left by himself at school”. If something should have
raised the flag, I guess that was it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On day 3
and 4, I took n°1 to school, and both mornings he tried to dive from the
teacher’s assistant’s arms, through the glass door and in my arms, and I could
hear him shout from the end of the corridor that he wanted to go home with me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In between,
I’ve had n°1 telling me he did not want me to start working again, as if I did
not manage to build up enough guilt on my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He’s also been waking us up up to four times a night, something none of our kids has ever done, not even when they were only a few days old, or when n°2 was born, or when we moved home (I knew we would pay for that luck, sooner or later). And if you ever wondered
whether sleep deprivation helps seeing things in a brighter light, I can ensure
you, it does not. And what to reply to a little boy who is telling you he is “a
bit scared” because there are “too many children” at school? “Wait, you’ve only
met 28 of them out of 350”? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I know it’ll
get better. At least I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hope</i> it will.
In the meantime, the silver lining of this drama (if I really must come up with
one) is that his sister is meanwhile starting day-care, all smiles and cute, funny
noises, and I don’t even have time to realise that, starting next week when she’ll
go to day-care three days a week, I will miss 42% of those smiles and cute,
funny noises.</span><br />
<br />
In the midst of all this, I have decided to sign up for my first 10K in... ages. I may not do too well, but at least, I now have "sleep deprivation" and "unlimited stress" to add to "lack of specific training" on my list of excuses when it is time to justify my appalling performance.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3136343122448225342.post-60463892915712294772012-08-11T12:54:00.001+02:002012-08-11T12:54:20.499+02:00The Flaws of Paradise<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: FR;">We have been living in our new
home for three months now, and we love it every bit as much as we thought we
would.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: FR;">Kid n°1, with no uses of a
garden and despite our best endeavour to turn him as an outdoor kid, spend the
first 2 1/2 years of his life trying to levitate rather than risking touching
the grass barefoot. Two days after we had moved in, he was running in the
garden not only <i>sans</i> shoes but in the rain. That in itself probably
justifies the lifetime mortgage. As for Kid n°2, she is lucky enough she will
not need to know the meaning of the word "apartment" for the years to
come. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: FR;">Another reason for buying a
house was that we thought it would be easier to invite scattered friends and
family without having them <s>stay</s> squeeze in the office-cum-laundry-cum-ancillary-library-cum-fitness-room-cum-bedroom-for- baby-n°2 and accommodate them in a
proper guest-room instead. This has worked beyond our wildest dream, since it
has barely been a week without any visits since we moved in, and we may soon
need to ask for advance booking. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: FR;">Talking about fitness room, we
are now the proud owners of a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mazot</i>. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mazots</i> are little wooden huts located in
the main house’s garden, where people used to store the household's valuables
in the event of a fire on the main house. Well, our <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mazot</i> will definitely carry on serving its initial purpose since we
intend, as soon as we have some spare time (famous last words) to refurbish it
and house in there our dearest valuables: turbo trainers, bikes, weights and
yoga mats and use it as our in-house fitness centre. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: FR;">There is no rush though, since
the main selling point for our new home, especially that time of the year, is
this:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFKUUyuppBcd5fI9pTDbAOB4C3GAPDMapdHQnhxl5KWQvWhybaeHeflZ2A03Vdhn0s3cbCzOI4oi0vyAtdaa5puV6krbo6_TakWtJ6erlrKJ0adJ1XUOnXLapQ__0MqH0D-rwN-_2nF_k4/s1600/008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFKUUyuppBcd5fI9pTDbAOB4C3GAPDMapdHQnhxl5KWQvWhybaeHeflZ2A03Vdhn0s3cbCzOI4oi0vyAtdaa5puV6krbo6_TakWtJ6erlrKJ0adJ1XUOnXLapQ__0MqH0D-rwN-_2nF_k4/s320/008.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="center">
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="MsoNormalTable" style="mso-cellspacing: 0cm; mso-padding-alt: 0cm 0cm 0cm 0cm; mso-yfti-tbllook: 1184;">
<tbody>
<tr style="mso-yfti-firstrow: yes; mso-yfti-irow: 0;">
<td style="padding: 0cm 0cm 0cm 0cm;"><br /></td><td style="padding: 0cm;"><br /></td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 1; mso-yfti-lastrow: yes;">
<td style="padding: 0cm 0cm 0cm 0cm;"><br /></td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: FR;">A (beautiful, can I say it
again) mountain, steep single trails, direct access to said trails from home.
In other words, the perfect training camp literally on our door step. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: FR;">If you're fit. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: FR;">Because nothing, I repeat, <i>nothing</i>
around here is flat. Not a single metre of trail. And this is tough when
motivation is high but stamina inexistent, the result of several months of flat
pregnant running followed by a couple of months of running-less post-partum
(me) or weekends spent working in the house (husband). </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: FR;">Initially, it was not all that
bad. As I started running again, I was only allowed ridiculously short runs,
and had managed to design a loop doing figures of eight in the fields which did
not involved climbing Mt Blanc twice elevation-wise. It is now that I have been
able to increase speed and distance than the issue has risen, since any
hour-long run around here involves at least 700 vertical metres of climbing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibEivA6oOtOVTqpRmEtFKcgb3YEM7jAZKHqZQe_SvWwoxky_BuVMaBaAADTzEgOpcVVNSd5x-HqDNtKc6SDlVeQk3CzfKxvGbFxTWqe-FaKqKiaK7AxkCHrG78-TxgEWSXm8XWv6RyRPsr/s1600/009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibEivA6oOtOVTqpRmEtFKcgb3YEM7jAZKHqZQe_SvWwoxky_BuVMaBaAADTzEgOpcVVNSd5x-HqDNtKc6SDlVeQk3CzfKxvGbFxTWqe-FaKqKiaK7AxkCHrG78-TxgEWSXm8XWv6RyRPsr/s320/009.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
guess the answer is: get fit. FAST. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: FR;">Then, as I discovered,
paradise can also be scary. Why, because every house or farm I run past seem to
have at least one big, bad, barking dog which has waited all day that I pass by
to start running after me with an unmistakable interest for my calves. Did I
tell you I was s***-scared of dogs? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: FR;">I then decided the way to go
was to go away from the fields and houses and in the forest on the hills. So
far, the route I am doing on my hourly evening runs involves some steep, stony
trails as well as a stretch of single trail snaking amongst brambles and high
grasses. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkAvqw6QrLBM5zMWKU453ADYvJDY8IY7dmLJ2muLW4v9U2f7Hmb-eiToWXAevNZQSDpBe9-nZaRRy9rGUd-O-1oWHg7_2nHegEBm5gLqoJ0ppPyK_cjgT6WfoRdqAgWa8LKM2gBm9NSGDQ/s1600/016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkAvqw6QrLBM5zMWKU453ADYvJDY8IY7dmLJ2muLW4v9U2f7Hmb-eiToWXAevNZQSDpBe9-nZaRRy9rGUd-O-1oWHg7_2nHegEBm5gLqoJ0ppPyK_cjgT6WfoRdqAgWa8LKM2gBm9NSGDQ/s320/016.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">In other words, the perfect place for runs, and for snakes, and for me
to walk on said snakes. And did I also tell you I was s***-scared of snakes? </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: FR;">And here you start thinking that it is a bit rich of me to make fun of Kid
n°1 for not being outdoorsy enough, and you'll be right: I am a sissie.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: FR;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: FR;">As if my fight against
wildlife would be stopping when I by miracle come back alive from my runs. But
it isn't so: we also fighting a hopeless battle in our own garden against moles
and field mice. Our garden is in a state which reminds of the most vivid
descriptions of WWI battle of Verdun. I spend every morning
trying to fight molehills and mice’s holes, flatten the former out and fill the
later with soil from the former (knowing they'll both be back minutes later),
filled with a rage that will soon make me lose all credibility when telling my
kids violence is never the way.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: FR;">Three months here and I have
found the secret: paradise is only for the Fit, the Fearless and the Fighter.
For the others, there's purgatory first, paved with steep hills, barking dogs,
biting snakes and omnipresent moles. The good news is, I think I can deal with
purgatory for a few years.</span></div>
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<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3136343122448225342.post-6516972580284107922012-08-09T15:20:00.000+02:002012-08-22T10:19:46.136+02:00Good People Run<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">Well, some don’t, and probably
not all runners are to be found in the good people category either, but that’s
not the topic of this post, in spite of the (therefore misleading) title.</span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;"></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">Today was a special day. I went for a run. Any chance for a run is good to take these
days, following Adam Smith’s principle that what is rare is dear, but what made
this run special was that it was a group run. And not any group run, but my
first group run in… 4.5 years!</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">The last 4.5 years, over which we starting to live in Annecy, were not very
conducive to being both a social <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and</i>
a running animal, between an ankle still on the mend (year 1), a baby on the
way (year 2), a toddler to take care of and a demanding job (year 3), re-a baby
on the way (year 4). On a side note, and for those wondering why no group runs
in years 2 and 4, you may have gathered from previous posts that pregnant
running is not exactly common here (I am actually still waiting to meet another
Frenchie who ran while pregnant). I therefore did not want to push my fellow
runners in a corner where they would have felt they had to chose between
immediately reporting me to social services for acts of torture on un unborn
child, or calling 911 for the inevitable premature labour that my run would
induce. Hence the lone running.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">Until this week that is. Having “met” another runner-cum-blogger-cum-Annecy-dweller
online, she suggested I joined the </span><a href="http://goodpeoplerun.com/search/index/startup/1"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">GoodPeopleRun</span></a><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">’s Wednesday night group run. First
thought was: “small world”. I had actually come across that website only hours
earlier while doing some work related (yes, really) research. Second thought
was : “thank you, but no thank you”, since the run started at 7pm, which, in
Mum’s land, is pretty much the worse time I can think of for a run, between
cooking dinner for kid n°1 (everyday), breastfeeding kid n°2 (everyday), giving
baths to both kid n°1 and kid n°2 (should also be everyday but is not)… in a
nutshell, pick your choice and the chance is it needs to be done in the
7-7.30pm slot. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">In spite (or because?) of this the little voice started working: </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 7.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">“Sure, 7pm is not very<span style="color: blue;"> </span>practical a time,
but wouldn’t it be nice to run at a civilised time of the day, and with other
people, for a change.” </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">…</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;"></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 7.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">“Actually, if Martin, just that one day, could leave work a bit earlier that
he’s supposed to and take over at home, I could probably just about make it.”</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">…</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;"></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">“… and if dinner is ready and baths
taken (or skipped), this should be pretty stress-free for him and consequently pretty
guilt-free for me.”</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">…</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 7.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">“Well, it is only for 10kms anyway, so it is not like I am going to be away
from home for hours.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;"></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">Here the little voice had become so convinced that my going running at 7pm
was the best thing since sliced bread that it had switched from conditional
tense to infinitive.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">The little voice was sold and so was I.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">So here am I, on Wednesday evening, ready to fly. Martin has done his bit
by being home at 6.15pm on the dot and Meije has done hers by nursing later
than she normally does, meaning that I had a chance to be back on time for
“dinner” without worrying too much about her being starved. As for Malo, he has
cried a bit but only because he “wanted to go running in Annecy by the lake
too”, which was not so convenient but made me pretty happy because any signs he
may become a true runner, one day, is good to take. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">As I park and jog to the meeting place I am quite curious to see who will
turn up, since a group run organised via a social media is not something I
would necessarily associate with the French way of doing things. Clearly I have
been away too long or am the only one stuck in the 20<sup>Th</sup> century,
because the buzz has clearly worked, and a good 20 people are there. </span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWodBxEHn3h4lsyfe_eAXnSZNK5yzTwWu5B-ENoBbwKiNvRri3jADg2g8bmEHgOYOmgIv7fBgP9xBYnl60ybJcEylS962OqlnjHAZRcOtCYlUWraE3KWDhGsl-4o0NT2ZYu7a1RjPG-zS-/s1600/goodpeoplerun_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWodBxEHn3h4lsyfe_eAXnSZNK5yzTwWu5B-ENoBbwKiNvRri3jADg2g8bmEHgOYOmgIv7fBgP9xBYnl60ybJcEylS962OqlnjHAZRcOtCYlUWraE3KWDhGsl-4o0NT2ZYu7a1RjPG-zS-/s320/goodpeoplerun_2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tips for always being at the front on group photos : be a girl, or better, be a <i>short</i> girl. I am very good at both.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">Introductions, on the other hand, are done the way I remembered
introductions to work in France,
meaning there are none. As we set off, I resort to silently refer to my new
running buddies as Runner 1, Runner 2 and so on. As I will eventually gather
all my courage to ask his name to the guy running on my left, he will seem a
bit shocked. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First group run, and a
50-something guy thinks I am hitting on him. Way to go and make friends,
girl… </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">The unbreakable Thou-shall-never-ask-your-fellow-runners’-name-on-a-social-run
rule aside, some other things will never change. Like... me, for instance. Me
being <s>worried</s> terrified I am either going to be the one lagging behind
(bad) or (much worse) the one making the rest of the group slow down because I
can’t keep up the pace. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">And </i>I am
wearing a skirt, meaning I am at risk of being mistaken for the-girly-chick-who-jogs-but-cares-more-about-appearance-but-performance.
Horror. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 7.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;"> </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">“Which pace should I start at
if there are several pace groups”, am I debating with myself. “I mean, there is
no point in<span style="color: blue;"> </span>starting too slow, because I can do
slow on my own, and today’s group run may be the only one for a while. On the
other hand, which pace am I able to hold for 10 kms, these days?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There I realise that, 4.5 years after moving back from London, I can still only
talk about pace in min/mile. This immediately spices up the debate by having me
trying to decide the pace I can hold without incurring death nor shame while
simultaneously trying to do the miles-to-kms conversion. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">Bottom line is, as things indeed never change, I end up being in the
leading pack. At first, we’re only “leading” at 12km/hr (or, as I calculate
while running – thanks Dad for all those hours of mental arithmetic - roughly
8min/mile). That’s slow, slower than my usual runs in fact, but I remind myself
this is supposed to be a social run, so I refrain the temptation to <s>start
like I am running for my life</s> be a total arse and I stick with the other-runners-whose-names-I-still-don’t-know.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">At the turnaround point, we suddenly accelerate. I swear I did not do it </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 8.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">but truth be told, I am one
happy bunny.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;"> A check at my watch tells me
we’re now doing 14.5km/hr… Quick mental math again. 6.5min/m? Well, it starts
looking like my kind of group run. If group run = social run = chatting while
jogging along, then I am not the most social runner, but surely we can do the
talking later, can’t we?</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">Obviously, as we speed up, the little voice comes back. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">“Hey, it is getting faster,
and I’ve not done fast for a while. I am going to look really stupid if I can’t
hold the pace until the end or make the others slow down.”</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;"> By now however, a competing
little voice is also saying: </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">“ helloooo! I am pushing! I am sweating! My legs are working! I am getting
in the zone! I am feeling strong! I AM HAVING <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">FUN</i>!”</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;"> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">It looks like if I finish red-faced, it won't be because of shame anyway,
because we're back to our starting point and I have not caved in nor have I
held anybody back. I am elated, not dead. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure, I have been faster and for longer, but
it now feels like it can all come back if I want it and try hard enough... and
go to group runs. Which is fine by me, because I am ready for the next one. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">And there I realise I have missed them, the group runs.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: FR;">I love running. On my own. With my man. Trail running for the scenery, the
ever-changing pace, the feeling of wanting to throw up when it gets real steep.
Road running for the regularity which allows these “meditation runs” by the
lake, lost in my thoughts, or even sometimes free of any. But I also love running
trying for sheer <i>speed</i>. That, I have missed over these past few years
because the “group factor” was missing, and I never push myself as hard as when
I run in a group (and am scared of slowing everybody down or being labelled the-slow-girl-in-the-running-skirt).
And isn’t that also “social”, after all, enjoying the company of other runners
while using each other to push ourselves? Which is probably what the
GoodPeopleRun’s “making running a team sport” motto means…</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3136343122448225342.post-15203223529224283822012-07-24T15:48:00.002+02:002012-08-09T15:38:43.638+02:00There was a time<div style="text-align: justify;">
There was a time when I knew it all.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I knew I loved running.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I knew I loved travelling.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I knew kids were fun... ish... At least for a while. Actually, <i>only</i> for a while.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I knew lots of running and lots of travelling did not match too well with kids (even not a lot of kids) so I knew I did not want kids.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
After a while, I also knew what to reply to people (read "my mother") telling me that was selfish : wasn't making babies who had clearly not asked for it the true selfish thing?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There was a time when I still loved running but could not do it anymore because love hurts, sometimes, and sometimes it even leads to surgery, and to a 9-month running ban.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There was a time when I met Martin, who, against expectations, was probably a bit *mentally impaired* (or drunk?) since he fell in love with me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There was a time, less than six months later, when I still did not want kids, still loved running, still could not run, when Martin's mind was still not 100% operational, and when we went on holiday in the Southern Alps Ecrins Massif. Since I could not run nor climbed, we biked, and Martin proposed.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
One day, after a gruelling day-ride on the Plateau d'Emparis, we stopped by a lake, starring at the magnificient Meije Peak on the other side of the valley. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4nWmdM5a9CZOPrVXVJM1psAFABcWSwAdEzs-9uwDgihjdapLECZzJ8Y3rynJDiI-rECi59GBTLPZp5xdoniznIJr66rnAjLOqgLErpk42pyJJpGiKbxaHInfPK0dzyKVDOW9WpocWgRFK/s1600/goisern+141.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4nWmdM5a9CZOPrVXVJM1psAFABcWSwAdEzs-9uwDgihjdapLECZzJ8Y3rynJDiI-rECi59GBTLPZp5xdoniznIJr66rnAjLOqgLErpk42pyJJpGiKbxaHInfPK0dzyKVDOW9WpocWgRFK/s320/goisern+141.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We said that if one day we had a daughter, she would be named after that peak, the symbol of our love for the mountains, for each other, and for mountaing biking, of course.Which, of course, was a joke, since I did not want kids.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There was a time where the having-kids joke had become (a <strike>nice</strike> fantastic) reality. The reality was a boy, whose name brings pictures of rough waters and blue-grey skies instead of mountains. Meije-the-mountain was still in our life though, and running was back into it. By then, having discovered something magic going by the name of Chariot, I begged to differ when hearing that running did not mix well with kids. And when even Chariot (or our legs) was defeated by the terrain, we could sometimes count on grand-parents to look after our boy for a few hours while his parents had decided to run and get a close-up at the Meije. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF6wn-P4U96jkpR-SzdQFZnDUz4Ni3fIAXInZZ2mzG75F9cVYlCtZzSKJW1AWlBtpEYcJQFYnOElGedxBlrOsjkj-pUPNrXdZAO1dmY1aJ8lHJPI0wiAgJK_CvqSt709z-sR7RxrnvLl1V/s1600/1007120060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF6wn-P4U96jkpR-SzdQFZnDUz4Ni3fIAXInZZ2mzG75F9cVYlCtZzSKJW1AWlBtpEYcJQFYnOElGedxBlrOsjkj-pUPNrXdZAO1dmY1aJ8lHJPI0wiAgJK_CvqSt709z-sR7RxrnvLl1V/s320/1007120060.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4AdYofyA-i1HNjdpaQml_uEJJhO-Zuc-Dvc-CAEB4qU3tSWqgRw5UcWA8Gar-F1loyDvXmdP2_rGeWkJyU1g-5lMnrePk1pZ9OcL-UKDxpU9l5Z4Dm05cDppMHb3oWD2YPbRN_ccuE0NQ/s1600/IMG_2848.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4AdYofyA-i1HNjdpaQml_uEJJhO-Zuc-Dvc-CAEB4qU3tSWqgRw5UcWA8Gar-F1loyDvXmdP2_rGeWkJyU1g-5lMnrePk1pZ9OcL-UKDxpU9l5Z4Dm05cDppMHb3oWD2YPbRN_ccuE0NQ/s320/IMG_2848.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Bless them for understanding the attraction... or maybe had they just learned the painful way how it feels to be next to me when I am run-deprived and realised it was way more pleasant to be baby-sitting Malo instead. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There was a time, almost five years to the day after our ride in front of the Meije, when we found out I was expecting our second child. Five months later, we were told it would be a girl. Eight and a half months later - having inherited her mum's limietd patience, or heard so much about mountains she wanted to check for herself what the big deal was about, and nine months seemed to long - Meije was born.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It has been four monts now... </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqiZkIdRaRpNmyZUqWFxje13b2Y5jN-QjqHMEc2Asl2dMCcSA69A7VIoRIDPdu6SOhJRe47at74TPv8fRi-U7BlFZh6PmjGNRkQE-MfFsssqwX7gKarU28rdVRiFe0qsuRh7y54ZE1frzT/s1600/016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqiZkIdRaRpNmyZUqWFxje13b2Y5jN-QjqHMEc2Asl2dMCcSA69A7VIoRIDPdu6SOhJRe47at74TPv8fRi-U7BlFZh6PmjGNRkQE-MfFsssqwX7gKarU28rdVRiFe0qsuRh7y54ZE1frzT/s320/016.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
... and our life of adventures with the two Meijes is only starting. <br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3136343122448225342.post-63390174264981537112012-07-23T23:47:00.001+02:002012-08-09T15:36:05.912+02:00Oh look Maman, it's you and Meije!... is what Malo said when he opened this, a present from his Granny :<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWQ_siwVEyhGlG3oDeQNPHNkJ100B7F-ow-S_9lEsHmDfHtxsSTFvOAMeO8fea6_Vg1sZCgkW1MVK9efqJddDLCs3fHYcU9g7UiFMLTU-RiYUM6dxEe91968rp9_TM6RfaEuc-0Jz2sqI9/s1600/058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWQ_siwVEyhGlG3oDeQNPHNkJ100B7F-ow-S_9lEsHmDfHtxsSTFvOAMeO8fea6_Vg1sZCgkW1MVK9efqJddDLCs3fHYcU9g7UiFMLTU-RiYUM6dxEe91968rp9_TM6RfaEuc-0Jz2sqI9/s320/058.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
No need to say I took it as a compliment, was chuffed Malo immediately associated a running Playmobil with his mum (note / the key word here is "running") and will make sure this playmobil set will never, ever, get lost.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3136343122448225342.post-13681704683203603262012-06-26T15:55:00.000+02:002012-08-09T15:36:30.629+02:00Hell on the Hill<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">Now that you’ve clicked on the link, hoping for some
gore story or a detailed account of a disaster of some kind, I can tell you
this was not as awful as it could have been. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">Last Sunday was Meije’s three month-“birthday”. Since it
also happened to be 30°C with clear sky, it seemed like the perfect Sunday to
do our first “real” mountain hike as a family of four. This is what we see from
our house…</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0DC3LZ9cFDOKeGAeFXvBPViMutF_cH6SsoRyyZojsOXgcfKN5uPfY4DUQY6paDjl68Z9jRJCJgwlVW9nGc05AeCx4qJSIv4gxcnYJVHoVx_tXkoXAhnpOReVOSDFPJdSlHe51Hkh91qoj/s1600/June-July+2011+114.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0DC3LZ9cFDOKeGAeFXvBPViMutF_cH6SsoRyyZojsOXgcfKN5uPfY4DUQY6paDjl68Z9jRJCJgwlVW9nGc05AeCx4qJSIv4gxcnYJVHoVx_tXkoXAhnpOReVOSDFPJdSlHe51Hkh91qoj/s320/June-July+2011+114.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Parmelan behind our house</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">This also happens to be the mountain Martin and I
often used to run up to on those pre-Meije Saturday mornings where The-girl-who-help-us-staying-sane(-and-fit),
namely Elodie the baby-sitter, came to look after Malo, and where we’re <s>hoping</s>
dying to get back for weekend trail runs very soon. This seemed like two perfect
reasons to choose the Parmelan as the destination for our first family-of-four
hike. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">It did not start well. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">Since we had attempted to do that same hike last
weekend only to bail out when we realised it had taken us so long to get ready
that it was time for lunch, we got more organised this time, packing as much as
we can on Saturday night. That’s when problems actually started. You know you
can forget about light, alpine-style ascents when equipped with a toddler and a
baby. But alpine-style notwithstanding, how are you still supposed to pack
everything you need when one parent will be carrying kid n°1 in a backpack, the
other will be carrying kid n°2 in a sling, and there none of you can therefore carry
any proper backpack? And thank God for inventing breastfeeding because at least
I did not have to think about packing a baby bottle, a container with solution
milk, water to transform said solution milk in something edible by a 3-month
old, extra milk in case she is unexpectedly hungry again, therefore extra
water, etc, etc… So, despite our Saturday night pre-packing, and despite Malo’s
help in trying for a reasonably early start by waking up at 6.15am, it was not
so early when we finally had managed to fit nappies, pads, spare clothes,
wind-proof jackets, water and food-but-only-for-Malo-because-there-is-not-enough-space-to-take-fod-for-everybody.
Finally we set of. By car, because it will still be a while before we can do
with the kids the 1100m climb that is involved if leaving from the house, and
we therefore had chosen to start from a hut half way up. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">And that’s where problems carried on. Because Parmelan
being one of the mountains overlooking Annecy <i>and</i> parking space being available half-way up, it (unfortunately)
attracts a big crowd on sunny summer days, even the
usually-does-not-do-sports-unless-one-counts-watching-soccer-in-front-of-TV-as-a-sport
crowd. That means we found ourselves, 10
minutes after leaving home, stuck behind a massive SUV on the steep and narrow dirt
road leading to the hut, said SUV being itself stuck because of two extra long rows
of cars parked on both sides of the dirt road, preventing it to move further.
Had we been able to do a U-turn at that point, I think we would have driven
back home. But, as you’ll guess from what I said above, U-turns were not an
option. So we’ll try and be patient
(some of us managing better than others) and not bitch against fat couch potatoes
with big SUVs (some of us not managing that part at all), and by the time we
managed to park, it was 11am, hence the perfect time to start a hike with a
small child and a baby, no shade and 30°C.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">In the end, it was all worth it.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">We saw cows with their bells “singing” (Malo). Cows
are very big, literally and figuratively, for Malo, these days.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">We passed by disabled people being carried by
volunteers on plastic chairs fixed on wooden stretchers, so that they could
hike to the top, which made us say we should also try and help next year,
because everybody (bar fat coach potatoes with SUVs) should have the right to experience
the magic of the mountains.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">We saw our house from the top, or rather, Martin and I
saw it and Malo, being a good sport, pretended he did because his poor parents
clearly thought that was a very big deal indeed. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifnJjyhyphenhyphenMPiZFbz2SJjAzpL138D0H7vbBwr3GLWtXY-OEj0_QKk3uyMCX8wCxtGAoRFgzX81xhiHFZj38SZXeLM7ouw_W9Bvpv-wpD7LkTvv8xMBdEW1qmU1V9Fny0CjjJQIvhslJIjZPl/s1600/june25+018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifnJjyhyphenhyphenMPiZFbz2SJjAzpL138D0H7vbBwr3GLWtXY-OEj0_QKk3uyMCX8wCxtGAoRFgzX81xhiHFZj38SZXeLM7ouw_W9Bvpv-wpD7LkTvv8xMBdEW1qmU1V9Fny0CjjJQIvhslJIjZPl/s320/june25+018.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our house is at the right of my belly (and 1100m below) ... but you'll have to take my word for it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">We also saw trail runners. One of them, thin as a
stick and wearing plain, grey-ish running gear which had seen better days, was
running up effortlessly. Others wore spotless bright trail running shoes
(which, given how much rain we had lately can only mean they were brand new)
and shinny t-shirts with the latest [fill whatever you want here: as long as it
sounds very complicated and does not mean anything, it will do] technology. We
could not say how fast these ones could be, since they were walking. One thing we
could say though is that we know in which category we see ourselves. Call us
running snobs if you wish, it is still better than being a Salomon walking ad. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">Malo was super excited about being here, on the
mountain he can watch every day from the house or from the car coming back from
day care, and whose name I made sure he knows perfectly already. He walked (not
all the way though!) like a real trooper, climbed every rock who happened to be
on his way, and a good deal of the others, and fell asleep in the backpack on
the way back seconds after having said he was not tired and did not want to
take a nap when we would get home.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-IUoZnbt5e-TNmtFIfKpKGKp-6i2z9H2Pbag_HgBQ9L10cxy1ZIEqxLEn_h_XjXMb0lUGdigBKVREnHJHXkmRb-g0kD77VoXYiSxAzi_wdO_c8Jkwjs1u1PKgA0mafwLiM9XbjFA8TlEq/s1600/june25+005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-IUoZnbt5e-TNmtFIfKpKGKp-6i2z9H2Pbag_HgBQ9L10cxy1ZIEqxLEn_h_XjXMb0lUGdigBKVREnHJHXkmRb-g0kD77VoXYiSxAzi_wdO_c8Jkwjs1u1PKgA0mafwLiM9XbjFA8TlEq/s320/june25+005.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A big and a little M...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"> Meije slept the whole way, waking up on top only to be
fed and survived nappy changing in the cold mountain wind. Some people were
clearly worried she might get oxygen deprived, but seeing the colour of her
cheeks when we got back to the hut, I think there just worried too much - and I
mean, we’re respectable parents who took their girl to 1800m-Parmelan, not
(yet) to Mount Everest.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">Martin stopped complaining (at least for that day)
about not doing enough exercise since he seemed to have found carrying
15kgs-Malo in the 2.5kgs back-pack (with additional 2l-hence-2kg of water on
the way up) for a bit chunk of our 4 hour hike of our hike rather challenging
was on the quads. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">As for me, I got it all: a nice day out, the three
loves of my life with me, my first proper hike since Meije’s birth. And a
migraine on a way back. That must have been at the thought of the fat coach
potato with a SUV.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPb31mA6HNKwxSkK4QD7v58vLGdONXL2eNQcU9zFzO053eKVCs9p6k1sgHUbEADGKgFTDtOPYwrF-D4roNsUneEDHrI7NRnnLNU3johuqRM4qIKUuVamg4RVF9fxPwk0LAPBdZrwHVDgEZ/s1600/june25+012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPb31mA6HNKwxSkK4QD7v58vLGdONXL2eNQcU9zFzO053eKVCs9p6k1sgHUbEADGKgFTDtOPYwrF-D4roNsUneEDHrI7NRnnLNU3johuqRM4qIKUuVamg4RVF9fxPwk0LAPBdZrwHVDgEZ/s320/june25+012.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">... and my two little Ms!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3136343122448225342.post-48515998619199970912012-06-25T12:00:00.000+02:002012-08-09T15:36:43.323+02:00The end of an Era<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">No, I am not talking about that time where I had abs
(although I could, because this time also seems to have ended for good).</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">I am talking about the end of the time of my baby
still being a baby. At least Baby N°1.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">The past few weeks have been challenging on the <a href="http://mapp-running-around.blogspot.fr/2010/02/runner-hen-and-baby.html">Mother Hen</a> front. Ten days ago was the summer party at Malo’s Crèche (the day care
centre), and the last one we would be attending. And I <i>cried</i>. The images of almost three years of my life, of our life,
went by in front of my eyes. How I was crying my head off (yes, this is
becoming a recurring theme on this blog since I became a mum – I could never
pull it as a tough investment banker anymore even if I had to) the first day
Malo went to day-care or the first week (and many others) when he started going
full time. How amazingly gifted my son
proved to be, his first (and following) <s>drawings</s> works of art proudly kept
in a file or framed and hanged on the wall (but I had an excuse: the colour
scheme matched that of the living room). The relationship built with the <s>ladies</s>
saints looking after Malo and his friends, who put the meaning of “dedication”
to a whole new level, regularly calling at work to say “I have noticed it was a
bit hard for you to leave Malo this morning (and I thought I had hidden it all),
but don’t worry, he’s right now in front of my eyes, having a lot of fun, and he got plenty of cuddles”.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">It has been so special too to see Malo changing from a
baby to a toddler to a little social animal with his group of pals. Talking proudly about “mes copains” (“my friends”).
Requesting to invite said “copains” at home… only to cry because he then has to
lend his bike – I can’t blame him though, some things should not have to be
shared. Coming home with new words he
does not understand the meaning of (not that they always have a meaning, mind
you), but which must be cool since his friends in the know (ie those with big
sisters / brothers) shout them 24-7 (and was tempted to complain some of these
words were really stupid, before I realised some of them I was already saying
with unlimited bliss almost 40 years ago… good things often stand the test of
time). Talking about “Cars Mc Queen” even
though we do not have TV and he has no clue what this is all about – I must
admit to having since caved in to the Cars craziness and bought Cars boxer
shorts, and am not even (too) ashamed about forgetting for once about my “no
Disney-or-what-have-you-commercial-crap-in-this-house” principle, seeing the
joy on Malo’s face when he got them. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">In September, my baby is going to school. I know, this
is school, not some hardcore military camp. I know, school for 3-year olds
still involve a lot of fun things, playing, singing, drawing, even having nap
times (although on naps being a fun good thing I am sure Malo would beg to
differ). I know that even <i>learning</i>
things can be fun (if well taught, and physics aside, but maybe that’s just me,
and there won’t be any physics just yet anyway). But school is also about having 25 kids for 1
teacher in the classroom, not 15 kids for 3 ladies as in day-care, so I am not
sure cuddles will stand high on this lady’s agenda. It is also about
discipline, about sitting, standing, being silent, answering, drawing, running
( yes, even running, I am sure) only when the teacher says so. And although I
am all in favour of discipline, this should not necessarily be 8 hours a day, 4
days a week. Not for my baby… and not when it involves limiting his totally
understandable love of running, that goes without saying. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">To make things even tougher on Mother Hen, Meije will
start going to day-care 3 days a week pretty much on the same day Malo will
start school. And here it looks like I will definitely prove wrong those who
say that separation from your baby is easier with the second one. Believe me,
that’s bulls***. As far as I am
concerned, I feel the urge for crying when I think about my girl and I being apart
as much as for I did when Malo was her age. And since there is no plan for
another kid, I also admit to a fair amount of nostalgia thinking about the time
as a full-time mum with a tiny baby that will soon be gone and never be again (although
yes, I know, she only starts in September so these are not over yet. Call me a
masochist… and you’ll be right as this blog has already often shown).</span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">In other (not directly related, although…) news, I am still not
running (much), but as there is definitely some improvement, so it could just
be that the end of the “me as the mother of two babies” era will not also be that
of the “running mom” one. In the
meantime, I’ll take my (relative) inactivity as a reminder of how awful my poor
little boy will soon feel when regularly denied the fundamental right to run
whenever he feels like it. </span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3136343122448225342.post-75542748892056584312012-06-13T21:01:00.002+02:002012-08-09T15:37:20.896+02:00Same Same but Different<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Same, same, but different", often say the Thais in their colourful English (says the girl who does not pretend for a single second her own mastering of the English language is perfect).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Same same but different is a bit how I feel when comparing Malo's and Mieje's births and,the first months of their life.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>The birth - <i>Same, same</i>...</b><br />
Meije announced herself in ways which made me think "well, well, well, that feels familiar", followed by "it seems that, this time again, I won't be doing things in the "right" order". As for her brother, the sequence of events went like this :</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1. waters broke in the middle of the night, long before I could start feeling the slightest contractions.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
2. no pain whatsoever, but heading off to hospital because that's what you do when said waters break.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
3. Pretty much no dilatation for days. OK, hours, in fact. But trust me, hours feel damn long when it's the middle of the night, you're lying on the uncomfortable bed ever, you have no idea how long you're here for, it is boiling, you cannot open the window because some medical staff are smoking right below your window. I mean, come on, this is a hospital, this is even the bloody (ah ah) maternity ward, the nurse has just performed a test to check your exposure to tobacco, and, although you have sworn you don't smoke, never did, has lectured you 'tobacco-is-evil' style, and medical staff is smoking less than 3 metres from you and the baby you're about to give birth to? This must be a joke. (End of rant) </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
However I knew better this time than thinking "oh joy, I am about to give birth and it is not even remotely painful", because, from (admittedly limited) previous experience, no labour pain = no good news. First time round, from the moment we reached the hospital, everything that could go wrong <i>did</i> - not dilating fast enough, not contracting regularly enough, baby not dealing well at all with whatever contractions I had - to the big finale, a pretty traumatic emergency C-section. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<b>... But <i>different</i>?</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There was however no reason to panic, since, this time, there would be no room for uncertainty. A C-section had been planned for the following week, since Meije was still high, and my pelvis "not the size of a cathedral". It would then just be done a week earlier than planned, right?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Wrong.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<b>Quite the<i> same same</i> old story, actually...</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I thought I had, this time, everything under control, which, if you know me, was a huge relief. OK, a C-section was not the dream birth, but at least, this one was planned, so there would be no drama (just a little fear, getting bigger as the date was getting closer, about the anaesthetics and that, this time round, the days post c-section may be quite painful). Everything under control then... except that the on-call ob-gyn was on a mission as soon as she saw me, decided as she was to convince me I may be able to give birth naturally and should at least give it a try. Hence a huge dilemma : a c-section, no unknown, but the certainty I would never know what it is like to give birth naturally, something I had wanted so badly for Malo. Or deciding to give natural birth a go, to the risk of ending up, many hours later, which could be hours living with intense fear for my baby, with a c-section anyway. Bottom line is, once again, things were not<i> at all</i> happening the way I thought they would. Will
that teach me a lesson and help me not always being the quintessential
control freak? I guess not.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>... although with a different - Thank God - ending</b><br />
In the end, Meije's birth was different from Malo in that she finally was born naturally, some 22 hours after we had arrived to the hospital, she handled the birthing process like a rock star and I was beaming, as I was holding my little girl on the belly after a pretty long expulsion (what an ugly term to describe a baby coming to the world. I mean, I was not always a happy pregnant chick and quite pleased my girl decided to show up almost three weeks early, but still, couldn't we use a term which sounds less like we're getting rid of some illegal immigrant?). I tell you, having this little bloody, sticky, screaming thing lying on you minutes after she was in your belly beats being taken away in the recovery room, knowing your baby is alone in an ugly plastic box, anytime.</div>
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<br /></div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>As for the rest...</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Apart from their birth story, Malo and Meije have a lot in common. They both made most people wonder how their diminutive mom had managed to give birth to two pretty big babies. Some - including the ob-gyn, even asked how I had hidden it so well, but here, I would beg to differ. I mean, haven't they seen that huge belly of mine in the weeks before giving birth? Don't they think I looked enough like a whale as it was?). So far, they have also both been two rather easy-going babies : Malo started sleeping through the night aged five weeks, Meije aged 8 weeks (I still consider myself more than happy with that, and I am sure most moms would agree I should!), they both seem to find Maman's milk to their taste, having gained 2 kgs in the first two months of their lives. And if Meije has been beaten by her big brother by a couple of weeks on the "sleeping through the night" front, she was ahead by two months when it came to find her thumb and soothing herself with it : she found that miracle device of hers aged two months, which prompted the nurse to say babies usually did not do so before they were three months old, and me to feel very proud... although I may come to regret this later, when we'll start getting bills from the orthodontist.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
To end this "same, same but different" account, I should mention the biggest difference of them all, which has actually more to do with me than with my offsrpings : post-partum running.<br />
<br />
Hold on with me for a few minutes while I cry my head off.<br />
<br />
OK, I am back.<br />
<br />
Post-partum <i>absence of</i> running, should I have said. Unless you count 2 min running - 1 min walking, this for 40 min at the most, as proper running, which I surely do <i>not</i>.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD77jbfIuzrrwUfHTX7uu1-1sjI_EvDVr8USWcwkTZYlyJA5NJDPObuYK314zUBn_-aj9ObSEabfEMfBF30grunnjHpwzSUZKkq8H_XmfLVbVhYNx-YaHufAzdAD5VuESYEvPO-oAt6WOD/s1600/april2012+006+%282%29.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD77jbfIuzrrwUfHTX7uu1-1sjI_EvDVr8USWcwkTZYlyJA5NJDPObuYK314zUBn_-aj9ObSEabfEMfBF30grunnjHpwzSUZKkq8H_XmfLVbVhYNx-YaHufAzdAD5VuESYEvPO-oAt6WOD/s320/april2012+006+%282%29.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's my little ones being taken for... a walk. Yes, a walk. Not a run, not even a job. A walk. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Why that is so is for another post (and, <i>maybe</i>, I will manage to write that one without waiting another two months), but lets say the "natural birth" and "pretty long explusion" mentioned earlier explain most of it. Does the above mentioned little, bloody, sticky, screaming thing on my belly makes up for it? Sure it does. Kind of. But if I could have both the natural birth and the back-to-running-straight-after-birth, I would take it, anytime. I guess that's what the midwife calls my "Little house on the prairie" tendencies (what, we cannot be living in a perfect world where everybody is nice, things always end for the best... and I am running as much as I want? Sigh...). Quest for perfection on earth... no doubt that trait of mine is one that will for ever be found in the "same same" category.</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3136343122448225342.post-92084897388476040732012-03-29T13:02:00.000+02:002012-08-09T15:49:36.478+02:00Meije<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUDDnU4QH34uB462ZYb_esPAqoZomVov2UaXV9GgLWThhFhg-CDm5-tAjGW9Pl-VdBOYGzF0ClyPAfYA9cIcFbE12hWRAjYm4z8HVSlCy7XDWkjxC2V35q1vjdglzenalKQY0CjBglEoKl/s1600/march12+190.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUDDnU4QH34uB462ZYb_esPAqoZomVov2UaXV9GgLWThhFhg-CDm5-tAjGW9Pl-VdBOYGzF0ClyPAfYA9cIcFbE12hWRAjYm4z8HVSlCy7XDWkjxC2V35q1vjdglzenalKQY0CjBglEoKl/s1600/march12+190.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Meije was born on March 24, just over two weeks early. We're back home since yesterday, and it is just magic to be this new family of four!<br />
<br />
More when I have regained some kind of control over my life (so probably in about 20 years), but to keep you waiting til then, some first photos...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBeC5eyxdW2eQ70riC-Wf_bvNIUuSN2X9diPis4b5-BfUIcg_d-ljG7SZPsEhZsuajuNtUPPPUCoDxHrfITyvBfJVGguOg8SiGNhegSHxDPf741PZ40BcNy9OEBpJZhbjkUtXmQyHWN2Ai/s1600/march12+133.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBeC5eyxdW2eQ70riC-Wf_bvNIUuSN2X9diPis4b5-BfUIcg_d-ljG7SZPsEhZsuajuNtUPPPUCoDxHrfITyvBfJVGguOg8SiGNhegSHxDPf741PZ40BcNy9OEBpJZhbjkUtXmQyHWN2Ai/s320/march12+133.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Hpa8BhW0hY7Jth8ZQVr44jbD_wqgWamdfHFM1J-okHHyBeZHzJ1lbfHh32k_k1WV-V6Bxd9hWabrs8AVaBGwdciZdURy74kBprxv63uaqfVxYXZbkwkGQPCiud26wAItm_Ptd8SQVb8h/s1600/march12+189.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Hpa8BhW0hY7Jth8ZQVr44jbD_wqgWamdfHFM1J-okHHyBeZHzJ1lbfHh32k_k1WV-V6Bxd9hWabrs8AVaBGwdciZdURy74kBprxv63uaqfVxYXZbkwkGQPCiud26wAItm_Ptd8SQVb8h/s320/march12+189.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWsjfv2n43c-1Rt3KuhXdmbsheJEeZg2GhyphenhyphenSufvs5U3LqHGAEK49cwsAqv5OD9O6t3eJVUeV8zdZ-5dtEFUILqk_3LDXkBGroEv1IXoLuQ8iGQe0OldhpwAZECOMbr0EtLeMuERxFTvnEG/s1600/march12+215.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWsjfv2n43c-1Rt3KuhXdmbsheJEeZg2GhyphenhyphenSufvs5U3LqHGAEK49cwsAqv5OD9O6t3eJVUeV8zdZ-5dtEFUILqk_3LDXkBGroEv1IXoLuQ8iGQe0OldhpwAZECOMbr0EtLeMuERxFTvnEG/s320/march12+215.JPG" width="214" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3136343122448225342.post-26628638529109522932012-03-18T19:55:00.001+01:002012-03-19T14:02:14.204+01:00Is That It (hopefully not)?<div style="text-align: justify;">Unlike the <a href="http://mapp-running-around.blogspot.fr/2012/03/is-that-it.html">previous post</a>, I<i> am </i>now talking about delivering.<br />
<br />
And unlike the previous post (and how I would have felt last time round at the same stage of pregnancy, or even 3 days ago, or probably two days from now), I am <i>in no rush</i> of getting this baby out.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I have been "single" since Friday night. March has always meant, since Martin and I met, a week of skiing at my parents' in the French Southern Alps. This year, with only a couple of weeks before my due date, call me chicken, but I did not feel like potentially finding myself giving birth on the roadside driving up The Lautaret Pass, no matter how stunning the view. Yes, I know, you expected better from a mountain lover <i>and</i> Tour de France fan, but here you go. On the other hand, I did not feel either like depriving Martin and Malo from some spring skiing and time with the family, so it was decided some time ago they would go there for three days while I would stay home.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Pregnant with Malo, when absolutely no signs were given until the day my water broke that I was close to D Day (OK, the size of my belly <i>might</i> have given a clue), I would not have thought twice about Martin going away and my carrying on with my life, ie walking, hiking, running and swimming everyday.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">This time round though, things are a bit different. I have<i> plenty</i> of signs - which I won't list since this could become a bit too graphic and personal for my taste - that this baby could now come anytime... as was confirmed by an unexpected visit to the midwife last Friday! With Martin there, that would be very good news indeed, but with him away, I'd rather the baby does not show up too early!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We discussed whether we should cancel the trip, but in the end decided not to, since he would be "only" three hours away. The midwife advised me against doing too much if I wanted to limit the risk of getting into labour earlier (although to be fair she also said that resting and relaxing could help start labour , too!) and for the first time since pregnant, I felt I may listen and do just what I was told. So, instead of using my "single" status to do fill those three days with walks, swims, maybe even an attempt at running again, I have been doing pretty much nothing counting as physical activity, bar a short swim yesterday (on second attempt... just walked back home at the first one, having been on my way for minutes only, as I suddenly freaked out my water was about to break). I am definitely catching up on my reading and sleeping, though!<br />
<br />
It is funny that, whereas I have always been confident I knew what amount of exercise was OK for me and it always seemed obvious I just knew what my pregnant body could do, this time, I just feel like I don't know what can happen. But then again, it is not about doing something hurtful for the baby, it is about not being too keen on potentially having to wake up our neighbour in the middle of the night (no matter what she said about being perfectly fine with it), have my water break in her brand new car, and have to worry about Martin not driving back too fast in between suffering hell from the contractions. <br />
<br />
I am not sure what's going to happen after Martin is back. Last time round, I would have been pretty happy to list all these signs indicating that, maybe, the baby would turn up a bit earlier than expected. But this time, well, I am not sure. Unlike last time when all I wanted was an all-natural birth, this time I actually feel quite comfortable with the idea of a planned C-section, as it feels I am not in unknown territory and have some kind of control on the situation : know the doctor - check -, know what to expect post birth - check -, feel that although it is a surgical procedure, and I am definitely less fit and rested than for Malo, I can handle the post-surgery reasonably well... On the other hand, this baby coming early may mean having a go at a VBAC, but may also mean not having the kind of "natural" birth I would chose to call "natural" (I mean, is a peridural and not being able to move during labor that natural and conductive of a successful birth? I am really not sure), and one which may in any case end up with a C-section performed by an ob-gyn I have not chosen. And <a href="http://mapp-running-around.blogspot.fr/2012/02/my-funny-valentine.html">Big Bear</a> may not have been be the most diplomatic and warmest person on the planet on our first encounter, I came to trust him and I'd rather <i>he</i> delivers my baby rather than an unknown guy, again.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">With all this in mind, I am trying to do things which are quite unlike me : </div><div style="text-align: justify;">- try not to stress about this weekend and the baby arriving in a rather untimely manner... not easy when waken up by contractions in the middle of the night, like last night.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">- try to convince myself that now is the time to forget about being in control, and that, should the baby arrive earlier than the day planned for the c-section, it was because it was meant to be. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">- try not to stress out about not exercising and the no-doubt <i>huge</i> detrimental effect it will have on my post-partum recovery pace. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Looking on the positive side of life tough, one thing I am definitely<i> not</i> even contemplating this weekend, despite having lots of free time on my hands, is nesting... Looks like this is something which will stay forever foreign to me... pregnancy will have not managed to take control over <i>all</i> my life and self, in the end... </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3136343122448225342.post-65901016252948092502012-03-13T21:38:00.001+01:002012-03-20T17:15:47.269+01:00Is That It?<div style="text-align: justify;">And no, I am not talking about being about to give birth (or at least, I don't think so at this very minute).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">What I am talking about is the question whether my going "running" (I am using the term loosely, "jogging" or "plodding" may be more appropriate) has come to an end for this pregnancy. Running, and, who knows, maybe any kind of sport, bar, maybe, swimming?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">For the last 9 days, I have had really sharp pain in the pelvic area whenever I am standing, walking, or lying. And if you read and think "well, that's pretty much always, then", you'll be right. That pain feels like a powerful electrical shock is going through my pelvis, and it last for hours whenever it starts. My "sport" of last weekend consisted of a (fast) out- (and excruciatingly slow) back 1h45 walk towards the lake, most of which spent crying because it was so painful. I knew it was not the kind of pain to nothing to worry about,so I kept on walking until we got back</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5OVna_W5XVOm69YIcRxLvwPzsokFKCPYfAYkEpfWFVaGdbQhVGtRtEv_Ebh0HZSEhe67X4ALH_WZClKMP4OnIjMiYen3jCFmeLQaTaZizrN1euXQ-CV_Bn_MMfQHmyltx_1Zh8LZr654F/s1600/march12+005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5OVna_W5XVOm69YIcRxLvwPzsokFKCPYfAYkEpfWFVaGdbQhVGtRtEv_Ebh0HZSEhe67X4ALH_WZClKMP4OnIjMiYen3jCFmeLQaTaZizrN1euXQ-CV_Bn_MMfQHmyltx_1Zh8LZr654F/s320/march12+005.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Malo having a snack by the lake before heading back, his mum looking a bit like she is faking her smile.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">To make up for the lack of running and walking, I have been doing a bit of cross training (at last), limited to swimming, since I don't have a gym membership any longer (I am not yet over the fact that is more expensive to get one here than in London, a super expensive city, of all places) but the <strike>limited</strike> ridiculous opening times of the pool means I have not been able to get anything done anything since my great Saturday walk. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A visit to the OB on Monday confirmed what I thought : the baby has come down, and is pressing against probably a nerve, or ligaments, or both (just to make sure it does hurt). This would be good news, except that, as a C-section has also eventually been scheduled on that same appointment, the coming-down and the associated pain seem a bit on the useless side.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">When pregnant with Malo, I experienced back pain, but that was it. And this time round, apart from very slight nausea which never came back after a visit to <strike>the magician</strike> my acupuncture therapist, I had no pain whatsoever, and not even a slight discomfort when running. Now, I can hear those of you who suffered from morning sickness, swollen ankles, back pain, contractions since the 5th month, or worse, threats of premature labor or those condemned to bed rest : what am I complaining about, when everything has been so easy until I am into my 8th month? Yes, I can see you read this and laugh your head off. Or sneer. , Well, you may. It does not entirely take the frustration away though. Call me self-centered too.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">No need to say I am starting to feel a bit restless. I try to deal with my impatience by resting ahead of the C-section, and reading. Not 100% sure though that my choice of book, <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Life-Without-Limits-Chrissie-Wellington/dp/1849017131/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1331670203&sr=1-1">Chrissie Wellington's autobiography</a>, following <a href="http://willtrainforcreamcheeseicing.blogspot.com/2012/03/chrissie-wellington.html">Angela's review</a>, may not be - oh ever so slightly - in my "condition", on the masochist side.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3136343122448225342.post-70662175288795030102012-02-17T21:13:00.000+01:002012-02-17T21:13:46.289+01:00My Funny Valentine<div style="text-align: justify;">I usually <strike>could not care less about </strike>very much dislike commercial crap such as Valentine's Day. This year though, I managed to land myself a hot date.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Well, maybe not so hot unless you're into the Eastern-Europe-mafia-hit-men-walking-like-big-brown-bears type.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And maybe not so much of a date either unless you consider an 8mth pregnancy visit to an Ob-Gyn like a date.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My relationship with my ob-gyn started the day of Malo's birth. Until then, I had no ob-gyns . I had seen one at the start of my pregnancy, had liked what she had said (read "yes, you can run as long as you feel comfortable about it... which is what I wanted to hear, and what I thought was sensible, but which is definitely <i>not</i> what your average ob-gyn would say here), then proceeded not to see her ever again since everything was going super well and I'd rather have my monthly appointment with the midwife.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Fast rewind 2.5 years. On the day Malo will end up making it into this world, I turn up at the hospital, feeling pretty cheerful. What, are <i>those</i> the extremely painful contractions I am supposed to experience, especially as my waters have broken? It looks like I am going to be one of these exceptions who don't experience pain during labour, which is fine by me (I want a natural, drug-free birth, but if this does not involve intense pain, all the better, I am not <i>that much</i> of a masochist). </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Two hours later, a guy enters the room. He does not say hello, nor does he introduce himself, so I decide that he must be some guy emptying the bin or something similar. Then he checks the monitoring. Oh, wrong, he's not the cleaning guy, he's the on-call ob-gyn. In any case, he clearly does not think that, as the woman giving birth, I am anybody important in the room, since he is totally ignoring me. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Then, having once again checked the monitoring, and still not looking at me but rather opening slightly the bathroom's door and poking his head in, he says, before barking at the midwife and leaving the room : <i>"that we don't like"</i>. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We will not see Mr Big Brown Bear for another couple of hours, during which it has become quite clear that, pain or no pain, things are not as rosy as we would like them to be. Bottom line is, as we find out after a lot of questioning, Malo's heart is not dealing well <i>at all</i> with the contractions. By the time his heart beat gets as low as 50-something bpm, we expect our son to be dying any minute, and, when Big Brown Bear, called in by the midwife, decides that this is it, it is either an emergency C-section or Malo may not make it, I am well past the "natural versus assisted birth" question, and just want to know my baby will be out soon. And alive.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Back to today. In the space of these 2.5 years, I got to know Big Brown Bear a bit better. Or enough at least to realise that, although his manners may be a bit on the rough side, and his biggest strength is definitely <i>not </i>his inter-personal skills (I just wish I knew this on Malo's birth day, instead of mistaking him for a non-French speaking cleaning person), he's a very competent guy, one of the best ob-gyn the hospital has, and he'll do what's best for the baby and for me.<br />
<br />
I must now even admit to a certain liking of his rather -shall we say... dry? - sense of humour :</div><div style="text-align: justify;">- "Do you want to know the sex of the baby", he asked on the day of Baby #2's second ultrasound.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I replied I did.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">-" You've clearly not be advised I am not divulging this information any longer", he then said... then proceeded to the entire U/S without telling us what he had clearly seen the minute he started to check what was inside my belly.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">For this second pregnancy, I have not seen Big Brown Bear much more often that I did see a ob-gyn the first time round, at least since we found out that the biologist's news that the baby was not viable was just rubbish. What has changed though is that this is pregnancy #2, and that, with an history of C-section, I am now part of the sought-after "risky pregnancies"club. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Hence my Valentine's date with Big Brown Bear, during which we did not dissert too much about the good old days of our first meeting, but more of the odds of me having a natural birth this time. And the odds are not super high, is the outcome of our "date". The baby is high, the baby is big (and there is still some weeks to go!), and my pelvis not so much. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8o4URYan93Z6kUxB__jwfzKmjQNOu0BG4UsW8VK3Cu0ofDq_M68Mx6E1Ce-WHwgtd8a07TA1tZbxXq_Kt96iOmX6tlCGnLUbEdMhfjuVfjSxNuo45Gip797Xx3qdV9PIuVGtAFy6tg-Lo/s1600/12-02-14+-+wk+34+pelvim%C3%A9trie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8o4URYan93Z6kUxB__jwfzKmjQNOu0BG4UsW8VK3Cu0ofDq_M68Mx6E1Ce-WHwgtd8a07TA1tZbxXq_Kt96iOmX6tlCGnLUbEdMhfjuVfjSxNuo45Gip797Xx3qdV9PIuVGtAFy6tg-Lo/s320/12-02-14+-+wk+34+pelvim%C3%A9trie.jpg" width="230" /></a></div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">What would have been terrible news to me 2.5 years ago is actually now OK. I came to realise that no matter how I give birth, I will love the little girl, the same way I did with Malo. Sure, if a C-section it has to be, I will miss immensely not having my baby against my skin the moment she's out. But on the other hand, I could do with not having to re-live, even if only in imagination, the horrible fears that ended up summarising Malo's birth. Oh, and if she continues growing and ended up getting anywhere close (or even not that close, come to think of it) to her dad's weight at birth (4.650kgs - 10.2lbs ladies! Respect to my mother-in-law is all I have to say), I think I'd rather not even <i>try</i> to get her out the "normal" way.<br />
<br />
So following my hot date, I have been considering C-section as a very tangible prospect, and unlike 2.5 years ago, not a very scary one. And at least one thing would not change, should the prospect materialise. As I gave birth to Malo at the end of August, a month which sees about 99% of France's population taking their vacation, I had to deal with the slightly unreal experience of having to listen to the Ob-Gyn telling the nurse about his holiday (and complaining about the scorching heat... well, guy, just try again with a belly the size of a hot air balloon next time, and I swear you won't complain ever again), all the while stitching my uterus back together.<br />
<br />
Guess what, this time round, should we need to plan a C-section, this will have to wait until full term minus10 days, because he'll be on holiday again. And unless "Petite soeur" decides to come and check out the world earlier, it therefore means I'd better get ready for some incredibly frustrating accounts of ski-touring trips in spring snow then.<br />
<br />
And that's all fine by me, if this ends up being the toughest part of that day.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3136343122448225342.post-38958580932617194792012-02-11T09:37:00.006+01:002012-02-11T14:06:33.273+01:00Nothing to wear<div style="text-align: justify;">I am lucky enough, thanks to running mainly, to have now, at 38, more of a teenager body than when I <i>was</i> a teenager<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">(how's that for a catch line which may have me hated from half of the female population... although, if I am lucky maybe not half of the one reading running blogs since a lot of them will be in the same situation)</span>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I also don't seem to be able to throw much away (everything I did throw away, on account of the fact I had not worn them for years and they had gone out of fashion 10 years earlier, were, of course,<i> the</i> thing to wear less than a month after they had been given to charity).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And, last but not least, I used to be a real girl when it came to clothes (that was before I started to think my money was better spent on sport kit, before I had a kid, and before I had no money to waste). </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Having nothing to wear was therefore, in all honesty, never a real problem (although on occasion I may still vehemently argue right the opposite, especially when late to get ready for a night out with Martin).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Until now.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now that I am 33 weeks pregnant.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I am not talking about everyday clothes. Right now, I have two pairs of pregnancy jeans, a pair of leggings and a skirt which I bought at H&M when pregnant with Malo, cost 9.99€, is not even from their pregnancy line and is just fine. I am still wearing my "non-pregnant" sweaters, which have become very figure-hugging to say the least but still do the job (although I may come to regret having done this when I am back to my normal self and I realise that the said sweaters have lost their shape to the point of only being good at mopping the floor). All this is more than enough for taking Malo to daycare, buying groceries and working from home.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">No, what I am talking about here is<i> sports </i>clothes. There it looks like I have reached the point of no-return.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">When pregnant with Malo, finding a sports outfit which would allow me to stay comfy and decent up to day 266 of pregnancy (turned out I "only" had to deal with 262, but that's another topic) was reasonably easy. <span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">(As an aside, I did not get my math wrong : just remember those of us lucky enough to be pregnant in France have to deal with not 40, but 41 weeks of pregnancy... doesn't it make heroes of us?)</span>.</span> As I reached whale-stage in the heat of summer, I stole some of Martin's cycling lycras in which to fit my ever-expanding belly for spinning. And, when it came to hiking, running and swimming, I only needed a pair of shorts, a t-shirt and a pregnancy swimsuit, just like those : </div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLfgax67DczmveiaTHOkCXzbeEv63FltAoqqVc_Drwt6rb0xVNP9ozNYZ66LSvrtUwVdMKOQ6m_XbT7aHTLIViLeaVUl4INkt26p7xaE3R3Do_PUBJSX_s7EBs-tXPa-PQMEdDR8I7bTnv/s1600/DSCF2478.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLfgax67DczmveiaTHOkCXzbeEv63FltAoqqVc_Drwt6rb0xVNP9ozNYZ66LSvrtUwVdMKOQ6m_XbT7aHTLIViLeaVUl4INkt26p7xaE3R3Do_PUBJSX_s7EBs-tXPa-PQMEdDR8I7bTnv/s320/DSCF2478.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me in sports attire, 3 days before Malo was born and setting off for some "white water rafting" (!)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;">This time round, I am not only reaching third trimestre in the midst of winter, but, am I being unlucky, in the midst of the coldest winter Europe has experienced in <i>decades</i>. <i>And</i> my belly is 5cms bigger as it used to be at the same stage of being pregnant with Malo (and yes again, I do keep stats).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Thinking about the positives (second time in the space of two posts... I should make sure this is not becoming a habit), that spares regrets for having splashed out on my only proper pregnancy sports clothes investment, a pair of pregnancy fleece running tights. (On another side note, would you believe those had to be ordered from the US, since it is just impossible to find proper pregnancy running clothes in Europe. And it does not even mean there is a market here to explore, since there are no pregnant runners around. Shame). These running tights may be the most unflattering piece of sports gear I have ever owned (which obviously mean I would not dream of posting a photo even if I was paid for it), they're still saving my life right now.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Apart from these running tights, I could, until now, manage with "normal" clothes. Shoes and socks are not an issue. Technical first layers and fleece were getting a bit of the short side, but the ugly pregnancy running tights getting over my belly made up for it. I was thankful for the stretch fabric on each side of my fleece vest, which meant I could still zip it up. And for the first time, I was happy Mizuno's size XS is so ridiculously large, since it meant I could also still wear and zip my rain jacket.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">This week has, however, sadly marked a milestone, which will be remembered as the "I have officially nothing to wear anymore" week. Following last Sunday's run and related "getting dressed" attempts, I had to bent my principle of not buying anything pregnancy related with only two months to go, and hit <a href="http://www.decathlon.com/index.htm">Decathlon</a>, where, at least, I was able to get a fleece and a fleece vest for a price not too close to daylight robbery. And when, today, I managed to find 45 min for <strike>a run</strike> some time outside, it became obvious, as I was getting ready, that this was probably the last time the XS rain jacket would be used until back to non-pregnant status. I am therefore now faced with only two options : 1. steal Martin's (that's going to become a common theme here) rain jacket, which, being bright red, <a href="http://mapp-running-around.blogspot.com/2012/01/snowed-under.html">will make me look even more like Santa than a few weeks ago</a>. Or 2. freeze to dead. I guess I'll settle for # 1., eventually.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlCi-BkMPH5g8etjAJkbXscf_ZibN-os7fZxAjGFYTXiN4PP9Izqp69T_SOYKE8hRErfSVNr6ORGr8MMtkUYnVMw5bbKUYtYztwIwy74Gwoo8FlJGzKFoZLSRPO7EhyG8rX009lvuxL-WB/s1600/12-02-09+-+wk+33_cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlCi-BkMPH5g8etjAJkbXscf_ZibN-os7fZxAjGFYTXiN4PP9Izqp69T_SOYKE8hRErfSVNr6ORGr8MMtkUYnVMw5bbKUYtYztwIwy74Gwoo8FlJGzKFoZLSRPO7EhyG8rX009lvuxL-WB/s320/12-02-09+-+wk+33_cropped.jpg" width="270" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Snow shoeing attire is also going to be an issue. Again, those fleece pants will no doubt save my life, or at least my legs, but what about the rest of my very pregnant body? My - very warm - down jacket still fits (how long for?) but, as I am carrying my own portable central heating 24/7 these days, is far too warm for steep (or not so steep) uphill snow shoeing. And my only alternative will no doubt burst at the seams anytime soon. And no, I won't borrow Martin's, since snow shoeing with a jacket the length of my regular coats is not an option.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Definitely reaching a dead end here. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">As for the buff I have been wearing over the past few weeks as a comfy way to hold my belly, and which Malo calls my "<i>zupe</i>", my skirt, it will soon be a skirt... </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8bvCfK7BQViWWsZwLeQyFRmH2I9_ijWWudhpit-tqB2TqXRt5fpd0t8IiHP46ZK91p8p-6dyzHIdtUh6jnkf87VPFWe-coFs5Chdfsj-Mg8t31MmBYPqNNNvxL4ZzvzqQNtXR2L9hwlJU/s1600/IMG_3938.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8bvCfK7BQViWWsZwLeQyFRmH2I9_ijWWudhpit-tqB2TqXRt5fpd0t8IiHP46ZK91p8p-6dyzHIdtUh6jnkf87VPFWe-coFs5Chdfsj-Mg8t31MmBYPqNNNvxL4ZzvzqQNtXR2L9hwlJU/s320/IMG_3938.JPG" width="214" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">... for Malo only...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3136343122448225342.post-44122517674422441732012-02-09T11:53:00.000+01:002012-02-09T11:53:12.763+01:00A good mix<div style="text-align: justify;">Looking at the recent downhill skiing results results at the <a href="http://chamonixworldcup.com/">Kandahar</a> and the nationalities represented on the podim - first Romed Baumann, Austrian, second Alexis Pinturault, French - I started having dreams of a brilliant skiing career for Malo (<span style="font-size: xx-small;">OK, this is a big lie : there is no way, I want sports to be anything but a game for Malo for now - if he llater wants to make something more serious of it, it'll be<i> his</i> choice, not mine. But I need an introduction, so did not mind the lie</span>).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Good thing then that we took him for his first skiing experience just over a week ago (second one really, but he was standing on his dad's skis the first time round, do it does not really count).<br />
<br />
Well, if he liked in in this weather, the chance is he will like it <i>always</i>. The fog grew thicker and thicker as we were driving there and to say the visibility was limited when we finally parked would be a massive understatement.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinjA4OefcUGYJjDVfV9GkdrqZIjDRcjZHcxIZjENS_Th4g0O60m-XbvAgLlrxE6KrigScffb6oA2Bb_sc16aYxrFElvGrovOyai0CCpwFPeIgX-vzXUYOZWRyOQuh0ponsPcq_eY5tWMAk/s1600/IMG_3925.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinjA4OefcUGYJjDVfV9GkdrqZIjDRcjZHcxIZjENS_Th4g0O60m-XbvAgLlrxE6KrigScffb6oA2Bb_sc16aYxrFElvGrovOyai0CCpwFPeIgX-vzXUYOZWRyOQuh0ponsPcq_eY5tWMAk/s320/IMG_3925.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Mind you, at least, it was cold, but not too cold. Not -30°C cold like what we've been having since pretty much the day following our skiing trip (and this is France, not Canada, therefore -30°C for the best part of 2 weeks - and counting - is almost unheard of... 470 people have died in Europe because of the cold since it started). Goven that 1. if I had to chose one or the other to experience with skiing, I would go for the fog anytime and 2.I am the one chosing for Malo these days, it was just as well it was foggy but not artic-cold.<br />
<br />
I guess Malo's parents were <strike>definitely as excited</strike> much, <i>much</i> more excited than the star of the day himself that he was at last on skis. I mean, at 2 years and 5 months, it was about time, wasn't it? I am just kidding here, but, mind you, checking the average age - three? three and a half at the most? - of the skiers on the runs, in this tiny "resort" (if 2 runs constitute a resort), you would be forgiven to think all the parents take their skiing pretty seriously here and want to make sure they have indeed fathered / mothered the next generation's Hermann Maier or Lindsay Vonn. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I sacrified myself by letting Martin start with Malo...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisKpPFdHpf2NC9gMGEADzxePkMcBKzyNICpaX1sYPkGlLfb9G-jYVYEcT5cfCUTBiSumol8Rx2hBiOdp8GoUllG0IvQadAqv4_OhE2GAZpwiIwvjsDAJn69w7WjCNdI6vduheDpIzD6E5V/s1600/IMG_3929.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisKpPFdHpf2NC9gMGEADzxePkMcBKzyNICpaX1sYPkGlLfb9G-jYVYEcT5cfCUTBiSumol8Rx2hBiOdp8GoUllG0IvQadAqv4_OhE2GAZpwiIwvjsDAJn69w7WjCNdI6vduheDpIzD6E5V/s320/IMG_3929.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">... then could not help it and after 2-3 "runs" (the bottom of them really... we did not even take the "magic carpet") asked to swap, which was only a partial success since Malo was in one of his "no, not Maman, Papa" days, by which he makes very clear he is not necessarily 100%- happy wityh the baby sister situation. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOGwiEQcZ4sPmGFvx6agv3xhoa_bTDnqSvIOQJ_qx-dB6yk5kwt4TYH8cE4-c2JzCbDy0gVcx5AbZcShBkDqnDYUz9RVbY8g3dinD4XhFYMwKdo35njPQ9ienK8BLYRGyHCy01ccpnWo7t/s1600/IMG_3936.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOGwiEQcZ4sPmGFvx6agv3xhoa_bTDnqSvIOQJ_qx-dB6yk5kwt4TYH8cE4-c2JzCbDy0gVcx5AbZcShBkDqnDYUz9RVbY8g3dinD4XhFYMwKdo35njPQ9ienK8BLYRGyHCy01ccpnWo7t/s320/IMG_3936.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Truth be told, the best part of the day, if you were to ask the key man, was without a doubt the biscuit-break that followed the skiing. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbD08BSrMK_dOKZtNJP35tXLFlSudFSwtaOP63td78D-0X8dmxJwbpjk0n8TDPYunpwnWJGdEmxz7sO9AvtI3MqFErN9lu_GltmVkiv0r8Txh48UwproiCFWYVOInAsIWLhyrunccnVH0Z/s1600/IMG_3937.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbD08BSrMK_dOKZtNJP35tXLFlSudFSwtaOP63td78D-0X8dmxJwbpjk0n8TDPYunpwnWJGdEmxz7sO9AvtI3MqFErN9lu_GltmVkiv0r8Txh48UwproiCFWYVOInAsIWLhyrunccnVH0Z/s320/IMG_3937.JPG" width="214" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">As for me, well, the day was used as undeniable evidence that the toughest bit about skiing while 7-month pregnant is ... putting one's skiing boots on.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgruIRhGGUcOxuf69rF-dkBXV1g5bUojXGX3vsevSM6Nk3c785CiJ11fyJEfeGccswbbKbhskLQ-JlS4hkTJ21A5tKNJvNjcPtpGigEO01ZPIhJ-16oIwGmzhHfJkGAjSlJNCBMVnGCMawp/s1600/IMG_3928.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgruIRhGGUcOxuf69rF-dkBXV1g5bUojXGX3vsevSM6Nk3c785CiJ11fyJEfeGccswbbKbhskLQ-JlS4hkTJ21A5tKNJvNjcPtpGigEO01ZPIhJ-16oIwGmzhHfJkGAjSlJNCBMVnGCMawp/s320/IMG_3928.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":1}"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><br />
</span></h6>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3136343122448225342.post-39617178105186333152012-02-09T11:23:00.003+01:002012-02-09T16:02:14.349+01:00Keeping my cards close to my chest (or is it my baby?)<div style="text-align: justify;">2.060kgs.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">90th percentile in pretty much all areas.<br />
<br />
TWO KILOS 60.<br />
90TH PERCENTILE.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"<i>Vous cachez bien votre jeu</i>", you're keeping your cards close to your chest, the OB-GYN said last week, as I was in for my last ultrasound, having checked the baby and now looking at the whole 5'1 of me. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Poker terms notwithstanding, I am not sure whether I am more proud or scared to seem to be able to produce big (for me, at least) babies. One one hand, it gives me comfort to think that, should she leave her indoor pool early, she'll be already reasonnably big and strong. Malo and now this little girl growing inside me and clearly enjoying their time there should also give me comfort than my body is not only good at running, it is good at populating the world, too. That should include giving birth, so no need to worry too much.<br />
<br />
On the other hand, well...<br />
<br />
1. the first pregnancy went super well only to end up in a totally unexpected emergency C-section does not necessarily support this evidence ;<br />
<br />
2. I have reached the point where I find I am big enough as it is, and don't need another two months of the baby gaining another 2 or even 3 kgs (yes I know, that's me being a bit overdramatic here). The OB-GYN may think I don't look like I am carrying such a big baby for my size, but, I mean, has he really, <i>really</i>, looked at my belly? To me, it definitely already looks like a giant inflatable balloon, and one which is meant to keep inflating until early April. Difficult to imagine. And scary.<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"></div><br />
3. I am indeed 5'1 and less than 45kgs when not pregnant. Not exactly 90th percentile, is it? And let's face it, I am rather unlikely to get much taller and bigger in between now and birth, so a big baby is not necessarily such a blessing, especially with a first C-Section under my belt (pun not intended) and a pelvimetry planned for next week.Of course, I could try and think positive (now, wouldn't that be a first?) and think that estimation of foetus' weight can easily be off by 10-15%, which would then take her back to where Malo was at the same stage of pregnancy. That, or... 10-15% higher than the 2.060kgs announced. Already 2.370kgs at only 31 weeks and 4 days? <i>That</i>, I don't even want to envisage.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
But isn't the main reason for not wanting this baby to be too big, or at least not to be, at birth, <i>bigger than Malo</i> is this one : do we really need, in this family, one more reason for the two kids to querrel when they're older, along the lines of :</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Shut up, you're only a girl". </div><div style="text-align: justify;">" That may be so, but I was heavier than you and I was born, so <i>you</i> shut up".<br />
<br />
Well, I surely think <i>not</i>.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3136343122448225342.post-31810975870045919122012-02-02T22:44:00.000+01:002012-02-02T22:44:06.497+01:00"Maman, cours"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0hYrvwSEVWG2nknLrKZW0lSPEvqZ9ey-esBTdAY8cCvDO87C_NVSEoFIiabiJ286UI-BIcAk9iIYNG3NLhD159BB5VdChKQf28texqbSRef-ADRNzuImhR5S0Bhh4L1dhBIEbgAG4Q6CD/s1600/JAN2012+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0hYrvwSEVWG2nknLrKZW0lSPEvqZ9ey-esBTdAY8cCvDO87C_NVSEoFIiabiJ286UI-BIcAk9iIYNG3NLhD159BB5VdChKQf28texqbSRef-ADRNzuImhR5S0Bhh4L1dhBIEbgAG4Q6CD/s320/JAN2012+001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"<i>Maman, cours</i>", run Maman, says Malo 10 days ago as we leave the flat for a Sunday evening run with the Chariot, and are power-walking on the pavement. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"<i>Maman, cours</i>", orders Malo again 15 minutes later, as we are by then... well, running, actually.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Then, last Sunday, on a similar outing, it happens again.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>"Maman, cours"</i>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"<i>But I am running Malo</i>", I try to argue, "<i>I am just going slightly slower than usual because it is more difficult with Little Sister in my belly</i>". </div><div style="text-align: justify;">"<i>Non, Maman pas courir</i>. <i>Maintenant, Maman, cours</i>". </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">That's it then, there is no way to avoid 2 simple facts :</div><div style="text-align: justify;">1. My son does not consider anything over 5min/km <i>running</i> pace. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">2. I am by now truly running like a pregnant woman.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Although I am quite happy about fact #1 (surely that makes him a future, fast, runner in the making, does it?), I am not so sure about fact #2. Sure, I am running, and I am pregnant, but until recently, it had not - or at least I want to believe it had not - affected my training regimen so much. However, the last few weeks have seen me ballooning (or so it feels) and I have had to resort to using the tricks that worked when pregnant with Malo, who was clearly more tolerant of them then than he is now.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So here is how a run goes, at almost 32 weeks :</div><div style="text-align: justify;">- Walk at fast pace for 10-15 minutes. Now, this is quite something for somebody who usually tends to forget about the meaning of the word "<i>warm up</i>" and can start at pretty much the pace she will do her entire run at. But hey, if that helps avoiding contractions (and it does - zero contractions when running this pregnancy), I am all for warming up. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">- Run for 35-45 minutes. Now, this is were running time is more dependent on being either "only" super busy with work or super-super busy with work, and unfortunately, I cannot manage much longer most of the time.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">- Pace had not dropped too much until recently, but as we all now know, if my watch had not told me I was now going more snail-like, Malo would have.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">- I am running less frequently than I used to, pre-pregnancy but also compared to when pregnant with Malo, but <a href="http://mapp-running-around.blogspot.com/2012/01/like-investment-banking-just-worse.html">the culprits are more work and the new house</a> than Little Sister. Maybe that's just me trying to put a positive spin on the frustration born from running less - if that is so, that's great, since I am not so good at putting a positive spin on anything these days - but that could well be a good thing, since I have so far avoided the back pains I experienced with Malo, and don't feel my belly at all when running (despite its <strike>more than honourable </strike>whale-like size by now). </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Strangely enough (or maybe not so strangely when one knows how a runner's brain works and what it produces), I feel über tired ALL-THE-TIME, except... when I am running. I can spend hours wondering how to get through the day (and the night, thanks to insomnia and Malo having decided it is time to give us the sleepless nights we deserved but managed to avoid when he was a new-born), but feel a burst of energy as soon as I get out for a run.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">So here we are. I have to face shame when running with my son and passing people who can hear him shouting clear and loud from the comfort of the Chariot that I am not fast enough. But I don't care. I am having fun. And I am just hoping the fun will last for the best part of the next two months, even it that means embarrassing my toddler or boring him to death by being too slow. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3136343122448225342.post-25338602373922871022012-01-06T16:30:00.001+01:002012-08-09T15:46:09.781+02:00Snowed Under<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yes, we have been snowed under. <a href="http://mapp-running-around.blogspot.com/2012/01/like-investment-banking-just-worse.html">Figuratively</a>, but also literally. One is likely to last, although not necessarily the one I would have chosen, the other one is already something of the past, at least in town. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My November runs (at least the weekend ones, when I have more time) went something like this : </div>
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</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OBivrJeVSIM/TwW4Sm5NcQI/AAAAAAAABXw/BFsgPvfnBX8/s1600/1111120199.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OBivrJeVSIM/TwW4Sm5NcQI/AAAAAAAABXw/BFsgPvfnBX8/s320/1111120199.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Running" in the Glières range at week 20. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Incidentally, this photo was taken at the end of my 20th week, and although I'd love to pretend running uphill felt like a walk in the park... well, it did not, and the rather steep uphill section involved a fair bit of fast walking, not to take any chances of the baby getting less oxygen that it'd like to. This was mid-November, there was no snow forecast, and to be fair, this year, I was quite happy about it, since 1. it ies easier to fit in one hour of running than the few hours needed for a ski outing, 2. I had not planned my pregnant training regimen to include loads of skiing at this stage of pregnancy anyway. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Pretty much exactly a month later... and still no snow. By that time last year, Annecy itself was under the deep layer of snow, I was running at lunchtime with my Yaktrax, and had had my first cycling accident cycling to work from day care and sliding on black ice. This year... nothing, so a run up Mont Veyrier, overlooking Annecy and the lake, it would be. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-05f6psppy-A/TwW5qjH4sII/AAAAAAAABX8/ZWYai7DbOH4/s1600/dec+2011+012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-05f6psppy-A/TwW5qjH4sII/AAAAAAAABX8/ZWYai7DbOH4/s320/dec+2011+012.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Annecy lake from 1400m on Dec 12, , and still so snow</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Nothing on the snow front, but, unlike snow, some things arrive when they are due, including a getting-rounder-and-rounder belly. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9KyqGW7bggs/TwW8JQ6QIoI/AAAAAAAABZM/or04Zz9YBYU/s1600/dec+2011+013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9KyqGW7bggs/TwW8JQ6QIoI/AAAAAAAABZM/or04Zz9YBYU/s320/dec+2011+013.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view on Annecy lake slightly obstructed by a week 24 belly</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Then,<i> then</i>... One morning, as I woke up, "It" was there,eventually!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kLKX8GDND1Y/TwW8loofouI/AAAAAAAABZY/wYF0wSbh1CY/s1600/dec2011+014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kLKX8GDND1Y/TwW8loofouI/AAAAAAAABZY/wYF0wSbh1CY/s320/dec2011+014.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"It" being, luckily, the snow, not the baby : I may be happy if the baby is a few days early, but still some three months away from my due date, the baby is very welcome to stay warm and cozy inside.<br />
<br />
I am not ecstatic about snow in the city this year round. Last year already, it meant no running in the city for 2-3 weeks, and this year, guess why, I feel more vulnerable. And since there are right now two things I want to avoid at all costs, namely falling on ice while running but also having to run on a treadmill (in fact, I think I'd rather not run than run on those machines. And anyway, due to new house and new job and therefore little extra cash, a gym membership is not on the agenda), I want to see asphalt rather than snow on my doorstep.<br />
<br />
On that first weekend of snow, it was quite easy, however, to find a nice alternative to running without going too far away, and we settled for Mont Veyrier once again. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_od7r0F7jgkSUsDxusKHq2Psb5VsEP_gq5RRw0CCKeC8RqKlelwrecJOKw3rLShlgYWEpBVOaDzkmYXG-dayZgzxHMj8X2pv9nQ6oaJM_drpZt1-Gp7X5Z_GnuYF8OYen09SQtnbLNvN/s1600/dec2011+018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_od7r0F7jgkSUsDxusKHq2Psb5VsEP_gq5RRw0CCKeC8RqKlelwrecJOKw3rLShlgYWEpBVOaDzkmYXG-dayZgzxHMj8X2pv9nQ6oaJM_drpZt1-Gp7X5Z_GnuYF8OYen09SQtnbLNvN/s320/dec2011+018.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Up Mont Veyrier once again, although it does look like a different mountain this time round.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
Same running tights,same headband, same backpack as a week earlier. A rounder belly. however... and more snow in my shoes, the result of being a pregnant chick with a brain in sleep-mode who forgets that, when planning to go snow shoeing in knee-high fresh powder, gaiters are a useful gadget. <br />
<br />
An impressive storm a few days earlier had also provided some major obstacles for somebody who now struggles a bit with shoes lacing, and, as I found out during our hike, bending in half to get under fallen trees.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKx-RMcAZNStu1rgLJGIMn8RGq_jrvSIyK5B869pr7ranP1EbiDbkFdkxs-71u-FFs1PbyE9ZcQMDxrMSEvZAxvA0PEuF_eI0nuAe5qErasfaqhwX2rsFq7CJq0gmd1sF03bCKCypvysYF/s1600/dec2011+020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKx-RMcAZNStu1rgLJGIMn8RGq_jrvSIyK5B869pr7ranP1EbiDbkFdkxs-71u-FFs1PbyE9ZcQMDxrMSEvZAxvA0PEuF_eI0nuAe5qErasfaqhwX2rsFq7CJq0gmd1sF03bCKCypvysYF/s320/dec2011+020.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Parkour"-like snowshoeing!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A week or so later, and we were off to the Southern Alps for some family Xmas holidays. No alpine skiing for me, although I had packed my gear, since the resort turns out to be full and the runs far too busy for comfort/safety.<br />
<br />
Instead, it would be...<br />
<br />
... running, dressed a bit like Santa, and having pushed perfectionnism to a new level with a belly a bit like his, too...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYLbUBpiGdY3Sm04CmYGWCjM1NwtXfrYIfT4L6-XwfQmuJpQIm4MnSv8B6bjyAwTbuOGprWAk3Rrb_fGEcirkp78-pxz0BCr0JdaJu7NzwJowtPK4b4r1pJNpiOrtmQOJ-KFkyo-DIjFDl/s1600/dec2011+005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYLbUBpiGdY3Sm04CmYGWCjM1NwtXfrYIfT4L6-XwfQmuJpQIm4MnSv8B6bjyAwTbuOGprWAk3Rrb_fGEcirkp78-pxz0BCr0JdaJu7NzwJowtPK4b4r1pJNpiOrtmQOJ-KFkyo-DIjFDl/s320/dec2011+005.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note to myself : when pregnant, do<i> not</i> leave for run on hard snow trails full of potholes when night is about to fall </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
... Snowshoeing in the Ecrins range, a super workout when pregnant, not to mention an ego booster when easily overtaking the only other hikers on that itinerary, them panting, us not (my athletic performance not giving much risk of an over-inflated ego these days, I did indulge guilt-free on that one occasion)...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGa7q43WWAYOL_CUXfLk7fh75YGclvp-GXI-vu-AN-JJ6A3qioO2g4_ahZsX2wy3HzGgfNo5MpHIcEuCmWuNE3YV0OFowiLF-neXakHzT9rYqkrZ-0-ArD72kmRHICP4edhTx9aG-sK6-h/s1600/dec2011+014-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGa7q43WWAYOL_CUXfLk7fh75YGclvp-GXI-vu-AN-JJ6A3qioO2g4_ahZsX2wy3HzGgfNo5MpHIcEuCmWuNE3YV0OFowiLF-neXakHzT9rYqkrZ-0-ArD72kmRHICP4edhTx9aG-sK6-h/s320/dec2011+014-2.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Under the glacier at Lac de la Douche</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
... and pushing up to the pass, some 250 - steep - metres than what was initially planned. We were greeted there by a bitterly cold wind, which I did not suffer from nearly as much as Martin, thanks to my additional "layer"... while, due to cumulated stress, he's on the contrary recently lost 4 kgs that were certainly not extra. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_rnMUG0RdQqfoq53DeVA0y744TkTu3EBL7SAJAFcVHh5YUW0pNk6A8JqHoEqjq8m3IU3QfpOsUggecMa9WPE2q_sEn8djsd4591_-TIRLSg3IzGPCBlcVYLrgUJc1IlxOKHAeeQ4KzgcO/s1600/dec2011+016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_rnMUG0RdQqfoq53DeVA0y744TkTu3EBL7SAJAFcVHh5YUW0pNk6A8JqHoEqjq8m3IU3QfpOsUggecMa9WPE2q_sEn8djsd4591_-TIRLSg3IzGPCBlcVYLrgUJc1IlxOKHAeeQ4KzgcO/s320/dec2011+016.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Down from Col d'Arsine</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And, last but not least, since I could not ski and somebody had to babysit, I <i>had to</i> take Malo sledging. I just love sledging, and must admit that, on our first attempt with Malo last year, the mum had <i>much</i> more fun than the 1 year old who was providing her with the excuse for indulging.<br />
<br />
Sledging with Malo proved to be a bit of a disappointment though.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPEQDAkYJuh3RzSFAaidyH1pDyQ0gFUlLIv8Y88Wsi4YxC6bzAy-I5Ay9aD8RJC9RZ5dT6QmRJWwhwtt1c1UaF4JOKlQ0bR4QJTeROhsnJv9WEkL9MCAX3X-JzKUuU5wYkFeP4HySQKow1/s1600/dec2011+012+cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPEQDAkYJuh3RzSFAaidyH1pDyQ0gFUlLIv8Y88Wsi4YxC6bzAy-I5Ay9aD8RJC9RZ5dT6QmRJWwhwtt1c1UaF4JOKlQ0bR4QJTeROhsnJv9WEkL9MCAX3X-JzKUuU5wYkFeP4HySQKow1/s320/dec2011+012+cropped.jpg" width="257" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"moi tout seul, Maman"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Not that he did not like it. In fact, he liked it so much the week's motto rapidly became "<i>moi tout seul</i>".<br />
<br />
So Malo on the sledge <i>by himself</i> it had to be, with Maman realising she had just relinquished one of her last chances for a bit of pregnant fun. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3136343122448225342.post-59191947546428361892012-01-03T22:42:00.000+01:002012-01-03T22:42:05.932+01:00Like investment banking. Just worse.<div style="text-align: justify;">It may have been a great experience but I don't look at my time in investment banking as the most stress-free and balanced time of my life. I can give you a pretty extensive list of all the positives about that job. But truth be told, came a time when these positives could not any longer outweighs the minuses, the largest of which was how busy, running out of time and juggling with dozens of things simultaneously, I constantly was.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Our daily routine right now is a bit like being back in investment banking.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Just worse.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">At the time, life could be summarised to pretty much one thing : work and running. Days would be : get to work between 8- 9am, leave around midnight on a good day, not at all on a less-good one, and fit at least an hour of running on the work gym's treadmill in between. When time became slighly more of a commodity, I just added climbing and yoga to the running. Plain and simple.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Looking back at the last few months, it is amazing how much we managed to put on our plate.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It all started when I left my job last Spring. A blessing, for sure, but one which meant that, quickly, I needed to find a fall-back position, as it seemed we could sadly not omit the fact that, job or no jobs, bills needed to be paid. Shame, I know. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Then, at the beginning of summer and after 2 years of looking around and probably something close to 40 visits, it seemed we had found a house that 1. we liked enough to consider making an offer on (rare), 2. may be in our price range (even rarer). Cool, but it made the job situation even more of an issue, and, since then, our days pretty busy. Checking whether we could really afford it. Convincing mortgage provider we could really afford it. Debating future work to be done. Debating how much to offer. Debating if said offer would be accepted. Debating, following acceptation of offer, whether we would eventually exchange contracts. Exchanging contracts. Starting dealing with architect, builders, contractors. Feeling we are way out of our comfort zone here. And the list goes on.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jEaw9VGWyKk/TwNhqxidxUI/AAAAAAAABXk/vfOgl78m0w8/s1600/June-July+2011+114.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jEaw9VGWyKk/TwNhqxidxUI/AAAAAAAABXk/vfOgl78m0w8/s320/June-July+2011+114.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Very cool house, and we're very fortunate, but boy, I sometimes wish we</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">had bought something we could straight in!</td></tr>
</tbody></table></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Then of course, in the midst of all this, I found out I was pregnant. Not that this came as a surprise (I mean, we did work on it). But unlike the relatively stress-free pregnancy #1, it immediately looked that this one may not only be about <strike>sitting</strike> running around and watching my belly grow.<br />
<br />
First, there is Malo, who may be a super easy-going little Monsieur, but needs his fair share of attention (which I am more than happy to give, being the <a href="http://mapp-running-around.blogspot.com/2010/02/runner-hen-and-baby.html">Mother Hen</a> that I am ). Second there is work. The intent here is to try and get a few clients which could provide repeat business, so that, 1. it pays the bills (see above), 2. I can capitalise of this after the birth of #2, when prospecting and marketing may prove a bit challenging (unless in the space of 3 months it becomes OK to turn up at a meeting breastfeeding a newborn). Let's face it, I think I could have chosen a better time to start my own business. Third, there is the new house, which is eating up a lot of my time. Bottom line is, I am snowed under, even without mentioning my attempts at trying to fit some runs in. I do manage to get outside, sometimes, but comparing my weekly activities with that I had when expecting Malo would make me feel like a lazy b*** if I did not know better.<br />
<br />
So yes, the good old investment banking life feels a bit like a walk in the park, these days. Fitting in 18-hour work days and a fair amount of running. Phew, easy. Life today is <i>so much</i> worse...<br />
<br />
Except I am lying.<br />
<br />
It is not worse.<br />
<br />
It is indeed busier, if that's possible. It does indeed get frustrating at times, because I miss my running and also hate the feeling of trying to do too many things at once and not doing a good job at any.<br />
<br />
But worse? God, no!<br />
<br />
I just need to think at the little one growing in my belly, and imagine him/her running around in our new garden or going up the mountain behind our new home. I just need to think about, how, if things work out alright, working for myself will hopefully give me, in the not too distant future, a job I like, time for my kids and time for sports. And most of all, I just need to think that, if I am lucky, like his/her brother, #2 will tell me, as soon as he/she sees me putting my running shoes on : "moi aussi, Maman, courir", while looking for his own running shoes... and it immediately feel so worth it!<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">(Now if on top of this I could get a few repeat clients before April, and if getting quotes from the builders could be a bit less of a pain, I swear I would not mind).</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3136343122448225342.post-53300772285768917012011-12-08T14:07:00.000+01:002011-12-08T14:07:57.647+01:00(Another type of) Here we go again<div style="text-align: justify;">Yep, it seems some things just won't change when pregnant, being the first or the nth time (as far as I am concerned, "n" will most likely stopped at two, which, admittedly, is not very significant statically-wise).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My run the other day, for instance. Here am I, having a good session. The hard breathing from the first weeks is gone. The pace does not seem excruciatingly slow. The weather is nice, and, as far as running on the pavement goes, this could be very much worse indeed: I am running by the Annecy lake, which is pretty cool city running in my book.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_X3Fg_v0zgNY9qglxt1aXhNkt9Q_uPOigIHS9Ouw13fTy30_Q3JUX6um8iMIIpiVS6FbtlKxmuzgIKdgrzWYF3QCr2euwoHViiUmS7dxIBIGVEdjLF9VeIUdgTYm1ZFRtpxWvrIAcRfoM/s1600/IMG_0257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_X3Fg_v0zgNY9qglxt1aXhNkt9Q_uPOigIHS9Ouw13fTy30_Q3JUX6um8iMIIpiVS6FbtlKxmuzgIKdgrzWYF3QCr2euwoHViiUmS7dxIBIGVEdjLF9VeIUdgTYm1ZFRtpxWvrIAcRfoM/s320/IMG_0257.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I am approaching one of the canals crossing town from the lake to the river and justifying Annecy's nickname of Venice of the Alps, as I see a pretty big crowd standing by the bridge. In normal circumstances, I might be tempted to curse those people who are standing in the way and going to provoke - oh, no - a drop in my average pace. But then again, these days, I am pregnant, so a) not that bothered by average pace anyway, b) pretty chilled out (for those who may think that I am a b*** when not pregnant, I admit I made the penultimate sentence up : the days I was<i> systematically</i> obsessed by average pace are long gone).<br />
<br />
I hear the music as I get closer, and not only am I <i>not</i> going to worry about human traffic jams and snail-like pace,but it looks like I may even be tempted to stop and join in the crowd.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_vKwRFWzgx9DmveTKePvTYGAXsEuCkD4aQ8w-xWQG1spwAhfM-Tib9PW81qWa1IE1oOUK7bBm0mutAcWWL6llGcLW7U4daJ87hsHYxpGHz11QjvQuh8QcI0YrPLjFCkIeY5RoHB1EHg5P/s1600/IMG_0571.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_vKwRFWzgx9DmveTKePvTYGAXsEuCkD4aQ8w-xWQG1spwAhfM-Tib9PW81qWa1IE1oOUK7bBm0mutAcWWL6llGcLW7U4daJ87hsHYxpGHz11QjvQuh8QcI0YrPLjFCkIeY5RoHB1EHg5P/s320/IMG_0571.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Turns out there is a small event taking place, with old wooden boats out on the canal and people in period costumes playing folk music from the boats. It is all cheerful and unassuming, the musicians are clearly having fun, people are watching and clapping, I feel - how embarassingly sappy for someone who, for long, proudly called herself a cynic - a warm fuzzy feeling spreading inside me.<br />
<br />
And suddenly, that's it, I am crying.<br />
<br />
So here you go. If it were not for the slightly shorter breathing, for the slower pace, for the breast making me look more like a brunette Pamela Anderson than like Paula Radcliffe, for the unmistakably rounder belly, this would have given it away. If I can cry in front of total strangers clapping while listening to folk music, there cannot be any doubt left : I am very pregnant indeed.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3136343122448225342.post-16983721443950813922011-11-17T18:52:00.000+01:002011-11-17T18:52:18.364+01:00Here we go again<div style="text-align: justify;">Back in early September, I had my first pre-natal yoga class of this pregnancy. I know my yoga teacher fairly well. She's nice, and quite knowledgeable about what she teaches and physiology in general. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So here am I, walking in the yoga studio with my bike helmet in hand.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">- "Are you still cycling?", the yoga instructor asks me, half-laughing, half-crossed</div><div style="text-align: justify;">-"Of course", I say, wondering a bit why the question, "I am only 11 weeks pregnant" <span style="font-size: xx-small;">(Oh no, 10 weeks have gone since then? Well, I guess it is only yet another evidence that I don't update this blog as often as I should)</span>. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Then, as this is the first class (remember this is France, where almost <i>everything</i>, not just school, stops during the 2-month summer school break), the 5 girls attending introduce themselves and explain what their expectations for the class and for their pregnancy more generally are. One of these girls, who happens to be expecting for the same day as me, says she is into sports, including running ultra-trails and triathlons. YES! I say to myself, almost aloud because I am so excited : it is not that often we get to meet people who do as much sports as us, and even less often (bordering on : never) that we meet parents of young children still getting their fair share of exercising (although, if you ask us, we're far from getting a share we would describe as "fair"). </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Then this girl goes on to say she expects yoga to compensate a bit for the fact she <i>must</i> stop running and cycling. Not because she's been having a difficult pregnancy, just because her OB-gyn does not feel comfortable about the idea of running when pregnant. To which (wait, this is getting better and better) the yoga teacher replies that this is right, pregnancy is not the time for this type of sports.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Full stop.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Then it is my turn to talk, and the yoga teacher introduces me like the crazy one who is always on the go, even when knocked up. Now, I am <i>not</i> saying pregnant running, or cycling, or any other sports for that matter, is a must. I totally understand if women don't feel like running (let's face it, I understand it less if they just feel like doing nothing but sitting on their butt, but that's just me). I just happen to think that, if a girl is not having any specific problems AND if she feels like it, yes, she can run. And cycle. And do pretty much what she wants as long as it is safe and she feels good about doing it. And if she feels she should not run, or plain and simple does not want to, well, that's just fine, too.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Except this is France, where Clapp has yet to be translated (now, as a newly established writer and translator, maybe that's where I should start!). France where you stop pretty much everything bar slow walking and swimming the second two lines appears on the pregnancy test. France where, when pregnant with Malo and googling "course à pied cyclisme grossesse" I only found ONE Frenchie who blogged about cycling while pregnant. France where a running magazine dedicated to women recently published an article on running while pregnant, which I started reading full of hope the French had at last seen the light... only to discover after one paragraph that the recommendation was to stop when entering the fifth month. No explanations, no reasons given, no medical professionals interviewed. Nothing. Just DON'T DO IT. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So here we go again. Two years after being pregnant with Malo, it looks like I will still be told that, surely, all this bouncing can't be good for the baby. It looks that I will still be running and cycling by myself, or with Martin, but definitely not with another big, round belly. And it looks like I won't be given a chance to explain that, I swear, I am not a child murderer, I have done my research and it seems that it<i> is</i> possible to run while pregnant. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But that'ok. I am fine with it. Really. Or at least much more than the first time round. Unlike three years ago, I am not on a mission to convince the world that a) I am not a lone crazy woman looking at ways to harm her foetus, b) exercising, including - oh, gasp - running is not a bad thing for my baby. Instead, I will mind my own <strike>business</strike> running, and do what's good for my body, for my head, and for my baby. And too bad if I am the only one around doing it :-)<br />
<br />
Oh, and I will try and remember, on occasions where I <strike>may</strike> will get a bit pissed off with ignorant / jugdemental / unfriendy comments, what my neighbour said last think when seeing me depart for a run with Malo in this Chariot :<br />
"Way to go. An hour from now you both will be back all relax and happy". <br />
If she, a not sporty, pretty conservative, 60sth year old lady who has probably never wore running shoes in her entire life, can see it, there is probably still hope for French running pregnant woman in this world!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3136343122448225342.post-206571360122443752011-09-27T16:56:00.001+02:002011-09-27T16:56:30.519+02:00Just the right thing to say<div class="western" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="en-GB">OK, those who have tried (I feel for you, I really do) but not quite managed to get to the end of my </span><strike><span lang="en-GB">last race report</span></strike><span lang="en-GB"> <a href="http://mapp-running-around.blogspot.com/2011/09/race-report-and-bit-more-some-rain-some.html">previous novel</a>, I totally understand, and to prove it, I just give you The Novel's last paragraph's piece of news : baby #2 is on its way.</span></div><div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="text-align: justify;">Now, since I am just over 13 weeks now, it seems obvious it would have been premature to share the news earlier, but, I hear you say, that's not an excuse for taking 2 months to publish the race report I used to bury the pregnancy news in.</div><div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="text-align: justify;">Well, actually, it <i>was</i> an excuse. Because blogging was not top of my priorities for the last two months, nor was reporting about how much fun I had had to race, no matter how seldom this happens.</div><div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="text-align: justify;">Why? Because a week after the race, I found out I was pregnant. And a few hours after that, a biologist at the lab where I had gone for confirmatory blood tests told me my baby was not viable. Well, she did not say "baby", of course, she used the more clinical term "embryo". Like this would make her news less of a big deal.</div><div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="text-align: justify;">So this is how you go from having a huge grin on your face after peeing on a stick, to wondering how many hours or days before you lose the baby.</div><div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="text-align: justify;">I have always wanted this blog to be sort of funny, or, falling short of that, make you laugh at my expense (no, really, I am OK with it). One thing is certain, I did NOT (still don't) want it to be a place to talk about life and death or where to share my problems (which, let's face it, bore me enough myself as it is without others having to read about them). Problem was, I could not have found a way to write about what was just happening to us in a funny way (not that I even wanted to try anyway). So I just shut up for a while.</div><div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="text-align: justify;">To cut a long story short, we left on holiday the day we got the good-immediately-turned-bad news, <strike>had what may not be remembered as the most memorable time off ever</strike> went through hell, waited 4 weeks before I was back in town and could see the OB, get a scan, and be told the heart was beating but we could not say more at this stage and had to wait until the 12-week scan. So we went off again, feeling very marginally better, I not allowing myself to feel totally pregnant and feeling like life was sort of on stand-by for another 4 weeks. </div><div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="western" lang="en-GB" style="text-align: justify;">The scan is now done, and it looks like the baby is just fine. I am now going to be able to enjoy being pregnant, run, do yoga, enjoy the beautiful Indian summer we have right now, try to motivate myself to blog more often, and feel grateful I am not a student anymore, having to write the customary beginning of the year essay "describe your most memorable holiday moment". I will also try not to let my mind being polluted by negative thoughts or resentment, but I can't help wondering, considering her lack of tact (not to mention incompetency) if the woman biologist who told me the baby who not live, is a mother herself...</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3136343122448225342.post-11338000007583020372011-09-20T15:05:00.000+02:002011-09-20T15:05:51.964+02:00Race report (and a bit more) - Some rain, some cold, some wind, some fun and some surprises<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Disclaimer : this is as ling as a book, not a blog post. You read at your own risk, and I decline all responsability should you fall asleep.</span></i><br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;">The <a href="http://www.trailenbrianconnais.com/?url=sky_race">Nevache Sky Race</a>, a trail set in the Southern part of the French Alps, started in what one may arguaby call not perfect conditions : it had rained sheets all night and this showed no sign of coming improvement. It snowed above 1900m. We may have been right in the middle of July (ooops, I gave it away : I am VERY late to post this race report) but the temperature was in the single digits at the start, and close to freezing a bit higher up. The longer trail, which I was not signed for, had had to be shortened due to gale, snow and generally very unsafe conditions.<br />
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Yet as I lined up at the start, I was feeling great.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUoAaQhm3KOhsgVCCKUn-oQMMDmspzJZBb2yrvSqhvzkIBM6IGmcvE3HPpyLvKu7RjaPEwSIj8H10UfOxNluqKSbu8D3DBmNgoEoCYZtqgS8G1WPAkJASE54mIwwg0HCLl0uEIGiTxISpN/s1600/2011_podium+Nevache_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUoAaQhm3KOhsgVCCKUn-oQMMDmspzJZBb2yrvSqhvzkIBM6IGmcvE3HPpyLvKu7RjaPEwSIj8H10UfOxNluqKSbu8D3DBmNgoEoCYZtqgS8G1WPAkJASE54mIwwg0HCLl0uEIGiTxISpN/s320/2011_podium+Nevache_1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Photo: Charles (merci!)</i></td></tr>
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Now, this is VERY unsual for me on a trail race. On road races (which I have not done for a<i> very</i> long time), I used to be fairly relax (well, on my own scale at least, those who know me can vouch for the fact I have huge room for improvement as far as relaxing goes). I knew what my time roughly could be and I would just try and run that pace. I did not feel I was competing against others, but just against my own and my self-set goals. I knew I could place in the top women on a small race and get a decent place on a larger event, and that was enough.<br />
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On trail however, things turned out to be very different. I happily found out I was pretty decent at it. Specific trail running technics, which is very different from road running, especially on French trails, which are mostly quite technical, with steep slopes and loads of single tracks,. That seemed to come quite naturally to me, including downhill, which is key. I also had decent speed. So,<i> in theory</i>, I could do well. Except I did not. Well, I never finished at the bottom on the pack, not even in the middle, more in the top 10-12. But I also did not seem to rank better, despite the fact that I was as good a runner as some of the girls who did, at least when I happened to train with some of them, definitely doing my fair share of leading up the hill. <br />
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What was I missing?<br />
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Well... a head. Or at least the right kind of head. One which would not tell me, starting a week before the race, that I did not have time to train as much as The Other Girls did. That I did not have as much trail races experience as The Other Girls did. That I was really worried that I may not be able to run enough of the steep sections, when surely all of The Other Girls would (it did not matter to said stupid head that I run these sections all right when running them for fun). <br />
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In a nutshell, as for many other things, I was very ambivalent about trail races. I wanted to do some, I wanted to have fun, yet I was scared to death about "failure". I am not interested in doing many races since I enjoy so much my "mountain meditation runs" or my "fantastic time on the trails with Husband runs", hence my seldom races, yet I expected to perform as well as if I had huge trail races experience. So the result was, I managed incredibly well at stressing myself out in the build-up to a race. And if things were not bad enough, this would go on as the race started.<br />
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I remember a trail race last year. 28kms and 1000m elevation gain, so i<i>n theory</i> (by now famous last words) perfect for me. A very steep section 500m after the start, but that's how most of neighourhood trails start, so <i>in theory</i> not a problem. Expect that... I started worrying about the competition. About not being able to run the steep part. About not being able to run at my own pace because of the singles track section.s About worrying too much to perform. Bottom line is, I had an OK run, would have finished in the top 5 had I not developped patella pains, but did NOT enjoy one single of the 28kms because of the sheer pressure I had put on myself. Yes, I know. Ridiculous. <br />
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And then there are the very few races where somehow I arrived pretty relaxed. On one last year, I finished first, less than a month after the above mentioned nightmare, just because I had managed to convinced myself that this was a race for me, pretty fast with less elevation gain . Then there was last July race. I had signed up at the last minute on a whim, had not trained loads. It was 25kms, 1000m elevation gain, so pretty much like all the races I got so stressed out for. Yet I was determined to enjoy it. I love the scenery of the Southern Alps (not that I ended seeing much of it), this is an area where Martin and I hiked a lot 5 years ago and where he ended up proposing, so I just wanted to do this race as a way of saying thank you for being so lucky (yes, so sappy, I know).<br />
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And, oh miracle, it worked. I had spotted at the start two fast girls (or are you supposed to say "ladies" if one of them is only 10 years younger than my mum?), both with sponsors, one of them the French veteran mountain running champion and the other the winner of pretty much all the trail races in France Southern half. These two I knew I could not beat, so there was no reason letting negative thoughts littering my mind. As for the other, I did not know them, so I would just have to mind my own <strike>business</strike> run.<br />
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We started off, the two fast girls rapidly ahead, and it seemed to me I was third woman. I could not complain, it felt like my training runs indeed, namely straight up after the start., but this time, I decided I could not be my usual total fool and let myself be overwhelmed, as there was no way I could then overtake for a while, on those steep, winding single trails.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>photo : Charles again!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>It was pouring, and I was soaked after 200m. And soaked would not have mattered, had it not been so damn cold. After 5 minutes, despite I usually warm up very fast when running, I could hardly feel my shoulders, numb from the cold and the icy rain. Fantastic, I thought, and we're not even that high up yet. 800m elevation gain and 8 kms later, it got confirmed : the uphill had been hard and steep, but not enough for me to get warmer. This made me slowed down a tiny bit, and a girl, she cleverly wearing a red rainjacket, overtook me. Bummer, I thought, to be overtaken just as the taughest section was (I thought) behind me. Still, despite the terrible conditions, I had fun. I was telling myself that it did not matter I could not see a thing further than my feet, as I knew anyway I was running in a beautiful (if currently hidden behind a white screen) scenery. I was laughing at guys (silently, since it is bad form to make fun loudly of fellow competitors) typically picking up their speed as they get overtaken by a girl. I thought about Martin and Malo, who would be there waiting for me at the finish. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpsbWYvGo0Xzd8YSHIckBDe-7IGfFJPQYokw2u7MLMApyu_3n5n7adiDD6jOyXGkIkHK0JH75RBS7jQYbw65T3nHkvhwwpGYcuQsN0o39BZ0zdmbUZxi3mc7RJEN3Hs7JgoDQR9xgKzsQV/s1600/2011_podium+Nevache_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpsbWYvGo0Xzd8YSHIckBDe-7IGfFJPQYokw2u7MLMApyu_3n5n7adiDD6jOyXGkIkHK0JH75RBS7jQYbw65T3nHkvhwwpGYcuQsN0o39BZ0zdmbUZxi3mc7RJEN3Hs7JgoDQR9xgKzsQV/s320/2011_podium+Nevache_2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Photo : Charles</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>I watched my steps as I started negociating a traverse trail overlooking what I know to be steep slopes going all the way down in the valley. At some point, as the fog briefly cleared up, I saw the girl in front of me, which was making good progress. I did not lose ground on her, but was not gaining enough either to hope being able to overtake her again, especially on these single tracks which make it pretty much impossible to overtake anyway. Though luck, I thought, 4th is a hard place to be, but still, I will have had fun. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_BUYA7UBhwWMFoAgQNo4AC7TXZSdWXpFv303XvTI3MQDztVrleWeRBZ_5C9yqw9YYWS1xaOGbqbHpEE4VsemHbWMgqS2IDM71C364-3yGeabsGlD4VSBymb7giP5DuTLRSzgYb7XFapyk/s1600/2011_podium+Nevache_5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_BUYA7UBhwWMFoAgQNo4AC7TXZSdWXpFv303XvTI3MQDztVrleWeRBZ_5C9yqw9YYWS1xaOGbqbHpEE4VsemHbWMgqS2IDM71C364-3yGeabsGlD4VSBymb7giP5DuTLRSzgYb7XFapyk/s320/2011_podium+Nevache_5.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Photo : Charles</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>After negociating the technical downhill, I reached the check point. From here, it is all downhill, I thought. Sure, except that my mind somehow overlooked the fact that there was still 11.5kms to go. And except that I should not have taken for granted what the large scale race profile showed as a gently rolling down to the finish section. In reality, that on-average-downhill section included, in its first kms, a succession of flats and quite a few bumps, which I started getting quite tired of, literally and figuratively. Luckily, I soon found myself running with a bunch of 4 guys and I was determined not letting myelf being distanced, as I knew it would then be hard to keep on the pace.<br />
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Then, as there were maybe 5 five or six kilometres to go, I saw the red rainjacket of the third girl ,right in front of us. She had clearly slowed down and was looking tired, but was still going strong. We overtook her, and I realised I still had a chance to make it on the podium with Malo in my arms!<br />
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Except there was still quite a way to go, I could feel my knee a bit, was starting to feel a bit tired, and was worried the girl would find hidden resources allowing her to regain her third place. I started talking to myself : go on, you're not going to let negative thoughts polluting your mind again. You're tired, there will be time to slow down after you've crossed the finish line. And then the guy who was still running with me said he was struggling, and I felt I needed to help him keep on the pace, since he had helped me do the same over the last kms. Every 45 seconds or so, I would turned back to see where the red girl was. I could not see her, but that did not mean much since the trail was doing hairpins through the forrest.<br />
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Then suddenly, the village was there. A few hundred meters more, and I crossed the finish line. In third place. Without Malo or Martin to greet me, as I had run faster than Martin and I had expected! They managed to get there on time so that Malo and I would be on the podium together, Malo clearly wondering what the hell was going on, with all these people soaked and wearing running shoes, and Maman beaming in the rain. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Photo : Jean-Marie</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Well, this had just been SO MUCH FUN! I even managed not to spoil my pleasure by telling myself (as, let's face it, I would usually do), that I could have finished closer to the first two, had I trained more. No, instead, I was just feeling happy, to, for a few minutes, share the limelights with girls so clearly running in a different league (some of the running websites or magazines later reporting on the race clearly did not get mistaken about this, mentionning the men top three... but only the first two women!). I was also happy that, not doing any specific or targeted training, and probably running these days not even half as much as they do, I still managed to place third. And this, mainly I had the "right head", that day!<br />
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One day, if I feel like being more dedicated again, if racing and setting goals becomes more important to me, then I will do it. But because the great thing with running, and especially trail running, is that you can still be strong well into your 40s and 50s, there is no pressure! Until then, life's cool : I had a great race, I got to spend some time in the mountains I love, I got nice bright blue train running shoes and local delicacies (well, that's France after all) as race prize. And , last but not least, I got more confidence in my ability to run a race un-stressed, and evidence I can then have a decent race.<br />
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And as if brand new shoes were not enough, the icing on the cake came exactly a week later, when I found out that... I had actually been pregnant when getting on that podium! Just as well I managed to get a good race in before finding out Petite Boule N°2 had settled in, then, cos' it looks I may not race again for a while... <br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(OK, apologies, that was awfully long, but at least I hoped I managed for an unexpected ending... for those who did not give up long ago, that is).</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3136343122448225342.post-77675286899876987252011-05-25T11:44:00.000+02:002012-08-09T15:46:24.761+02:00Malo's Mini Milestones - 2 -<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western">
Right. My hopes that writing about Malo's milestones would force me into posting more regularly have been crushed miserably. I have got my excuses lined up (very good ones, no need to say), but that will be for another post. Maybe.</div>
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Since last post, Malo has made a lot of progress, done many funny things, tried to say many new words., invented many others. I obviously told myself I needed to write all of this down before I forget, stupidly failed to do, and expectedly curse myself for it now.</div>
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A few of the ones I do remember, though:</div>
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- Starting with a very emotional note for me... My Grand-Dad left our world recently. A week before he left, I had taken Malo, Martin and some friends of ours to hike up Croix du Nivolet, a hike in the Bauges Massif, where my Grand-Dad was from, and which my grand parents, brother and I did pretty much every summer when we were coming to spend a week with them during the summer holidays. These were memories I wanted to share with my two men, and I was very happy to take them there. Malo behaved as a real little "montagnard", walking pretty much the whole way. That same evening, I call my Grand-Dad to tell them about our hike, but he had been very tired lately, and he did not answer the phone. I am happy we made this hike... I am happy Malo seems to enjoy so much being outside... the wheel of life continues... <br />
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- Malo has lately taken to calling everybody "poupée" ("doll") with a preference for big burly men running past in tight lycra. This is since Martin, on a rare outing to a department store, told Malo, who was looking puzzled at some mannequin, that this was a "poupee", the German world for doll. Since my son is not stupid and that did not look, even remotely, like a doll, he clearly decided "poupee" was the word for anything human (yes, I know, a mannequin isn't, but since the manufacturer clearly did a good job, it did look more like a human than like a doll)... He has therefore, since then, been calling pretty much everybody he comes accross 'poupee". Little girls, young boys, mothers, old ladies. And big burly men in running past in tight lycras.</div>
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- He is saying "non non non non non" by way of "no", voiced in a vehement, concerned, end-of-the-world, maman-what-are-you-thinking-asking-me-to-do-this kind of way, all the while vigorously shaking his head from left to right. And it goes for everything : eat red things, come to put his shoes on, change nappies, go back inside. </div>
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- Talking about red things, although the Petite Boule still loves eating, he has nevertheless developed some "like" and "don't like". Or rather, some "like" and "I absolutely refuse to let this get anywhere close to my mouth even though you're swearing to me it will be good". That especially goes for strawberries, cherries and raspberries, so I am starting wondering if he had not decided red things were not to be eaten, full stop.</div>
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- For Easter, Malo got a new book from his Austrian Granny, which has become one of his favourite. It tells the story of Olli the little mouse, who one morning wakes up only to realise he cannot find his toy duck. Through the pages, Olli looks out for his darling duck, with the invaluable help of Malo, dutifully checking, on page 2, under the carpet, on page 3, in the fridge and in the cupboard, on page 4 behind the shower's curtain and in the washing machine, and so on. As this is a happy story, Olli, in the end, finds his duck hidden under his bed's blanket. Malo loves the story, but the story-telling has lately become very short. As Martin or I turn on to page 2, about to ask in a very concerned voice, if, by any chance, Olli's duck could be under the carpet, Malo impatiently tells us 'non non non' while himself turning on the pages to the last one where he victoriously shows us the duck hidden under the blanket... all the while clearly thinking that his parents are not the smartest cookies in the pack, not remembering, after so many times of reading that story, when the duck has hidden himself... </div>
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- Our Petite Boule absolutely refuse, no point arguing, threatening or trying to convince, to go barefoot in the grass. This is not new, but we had hopes, last year, that as he would start walking, this fear would disappear. It did not, and instead, Malo uses the "levitation" option when we try to put him down in the grass, or failing this, prefers staying completely still until we come and carry him somewhere safer, and this for as long as it takes. No need to say he wins. In the meantime, his tree-hugging parents wonder what the hell they did to deserve this and are considering getting a life-time mortgage to afford a house with a garden, so that Malo can be walking-in-the-grass trained on a daily basis.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6C-IYMqCC6AKaEp63bnvI17NorVkTvoPTeRW56EV7-5LGGkBkfvRTu-JZKk0fa7DL3Ls4GY_x7BF2WLpSrTWfNvv8oftZRw1yWh5JGB8smXk5sVkIiQ1x5VFjaYriMFpqFpIPtqp_QaHv/s1600/1008190346.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6C-IYMqCC6AKaEp63bnvI17NorVkTvoPTeRW56EV7-5LGGkBkfvRTu-JZKk0fa7DL3Ls4GY_x7BF2WLpSrTWfNvv8oftZRw1yWh5JGB8smXk5sVkIiQ1x5VFjaYriMFpqFpIPtqp_QaHv/s320/1008190346.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">That was last summer in Austria... but Malo's</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">levitation skills have not gotten worse since then</span></div>
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- Malo has had for a long time a fascination for bicycles, something that unlike his dislike for grass, we're <strike>pretty pleased</strike> <strike>happy</strike> ecstatic about, and for which, given that we cycle everywhere and our only car rarely gets out of the garage, we take full credit for. His love for bikes and our pride thus justified that we made a exception to our rule of not getting him big presents unless there is a birthday or Xmas coming, and we therefore invested in a wooden run bike. Admitedly, we had doubts he would manage to use it, given he is not even 21 months old. In fact, before being able to even check that he would understand what to do, Martin had to make an additional hole (despite this being the smallest bike on the market) to lower the saddle further! But once this was done, ... he was a star! Martin is beaming at other parents' comments that their child was too scared or not coordinated enough to ride their bike before their second birthday, and would almost already plan for Malo's first Tour du Lac (the 45km ride around the Annecy lake). As for me, I am taking the p***, out of Martin... while being (not so) secretly super proud of my son, too.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqNxuevsLCgeOi4Vf9js1PzxxoQDLlbZOyZSgDFT3UC8rQkYvabshKbWkcwjR7FEuhHb5MKh2Lc2L5i_lCA_rDwqp-E0lCDlqLB4yt96Pobft_kRk9beoCe90la1xqXnmTytF99MTG3bm4/s1600/mai2011+042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqNxuevsLCgeOi4Vf9js1PzxxoQDLlbZOyZSgDFT3UC8rQkYvabshKbWkcwjR7FEuhHb5MKh2Lc2L5i_lCA_rDwqp-E0lCDlqLB4yt96Pobft_kRk9beoCe90la1xqXnmTytF99MTG3bm4/s320/mai2011+042.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">He's not even shying away of off-road cycling, my son...</span></div>
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It is hard to believe I once wondered if I would ever want to have kids... </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0