Guess...

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Three athletes before the start of the Annecy triathlon last weekend, two of whom did not race... guess who?

Never too early for the right kit

When “petite boule” arrives (our son, for those who had not guessed), he will have no choice but be a sporty baby. We however don’t plan to be horrible parents, and plan to let him chose whichever sport he likes best. As long as it is among running, climbing, road cycling and mountain biking that is. And as long as the word “football” is never pronounced within a 10 mile radius from home. Obviously.

Our friends are great. They understand (well, most of them at least) that, as a result, Petite Boule needs to have the right kit. That includes getting ready for the potential injury. And here is what Petite Boule got from our friend Nadya as a “well-done” present for having got a (well deserved) ++ as activity indicator at the last scan appointment:

Ankle support bands, to help with his first tendinitis or other running-related ankle injuries! Isn’t that cool? And he can even afford to injure both ankles at the same time. Luxury…

Merci Nadya…

Gore? Bring it on!

I have recently stopped running (of course not, not for good… are you MAD?). Sure, I will miss it a bit for the coming few months. The running itself, obviously, but also (and allow me to be cheesy here), you know, that feeling of belonging to a community. Then I came to realise that there were more common points between runners and pregnant women than catches the eye, and wondered if that that would help me still feeling part of a community.

The runners amongst you will know that runners share much more than their love for running. For the others, just picture this: normally well-behaved and socially-apt adults describing in vivid details pre-race bowel movements. Debating for hours whether Paula did a number two on that 2005 London Marathon wildly reported pit stop. Not to mention giving detailed, gory and totally unnecessary description of various sport-induced injuries. I must myself confess to months of having as screen-saver the photo of my sliced-open ankle and naked split tendon, given by my surgeon after surgery. You want to see? No? really? Sure... OK then… shame, though...As for the triathletes, logically being as gross as runners to the power of three, just ask and they will delight you with stories of the best methods to pee from your bike, or in your wetsuit, or on your running shoes (and I should know, as Martin, having recently taken up triathlon, is delighted me with his accounts).

So I thought being now off running for a few months would have at least one plus, which would be to keep me away from the “gross” issue, and spare me the need to hear about my fellow runners’ bowel movements and other appetizing adventures, (and, let’s face it, sometimes share descriptions of my own: you do what you have to do to belong).Well, I had to think again. Because you see, the main characteristic shared by runners and pregnant women alike is precisely their propensity at being totally; overly gross. Actually, strike that off: delectation, rather than propensity, describes the phenomenon much more accurately.

The fact is, pregnant women LOVE gore. And the problem is that, no matter how you slice it, you have to hand it over to them, they have plenty to tell, much more than any runners, no matter how dedicated, will ever have.So, since we made public the imminent arrival of the little one, I have had to deal with descriptions which could make a runner, and maybe even a triathlete, blush. Think no-details-spared descriptions of first trimester nauseas. Hemorrhoids. 18-hour-long labour with tears, screams, ending up in apotheosis with the use of forceps or other torture device. Episiotomy. And here, guys, one word of advice: if you (lucky you) don’t know what this is, refrain from looking it up on Google. Trust me, you will find out soon enough. In a nutshell, think of something truly abominable and the chance is there will be a pregnant woman around with a story to share.

This has been a real problem for me for the past few months. In fact, I just feel like I don’t belong. See, so far, my pregnancy has gone super well. No nauseas. Ok, I was a bit tired for the last couple of months, but it did not last, and somehow this did not sound like something that would get my pregnant friends impressed. No significant back pain which lasted more than a few days. Not even water retention, for crying out loud. Result is, I am feeling a bit like an outcast: not a fully paid-up member of the running community anymore, and not quite gore enough to be admitted in the close circle of the Truly-Pregnant women.

But you know, I think I will live with it. Call me a softie, but not matter how much I want to belong, I don’t think I am ready to go for the 18-hour delivery just yet…

Rent-a-baby.com

The other day, as I was waiting for my monthly appointment with the midwife, I came across an interesting article in one of these magazines for mums-to-be. It was about how pregnancy is a good time to come up with cool business ideas, a combination apparently of an improved creativity when you are pregnant (good to know there are some advantages at having your hormones all over the place) and the desire of many women to find a way to juggle work and raising their kids.I could not agree more. In fact, I recently came up with a great business idea, which Martin likes very much as well: we are going to rent our kid out.

Don’t start giving me grief or call the social services: I don’t intend to rent the baby out full time. But we figured a few times a week would be rather convenient for us, while being a perfect solution for childless couples too.Don’t get me wrong: we are obviously delighted and very excited (oh, and also scared beyond belief, if you insist), to soon welcome to the world a tiny new athlete. Still, we are also quite aware that fitting our sports sessions around feeding time, changing nappies time, sleeping time, and other I-don’t-fully-comprehend-what-I-am-getting-myself-into time, will be a challenge greater than any sporting event we have entered until now.

On the other hand, a lot of people are childless, some because they, like me until recently (OK, let’s face it: like me to this day), are not sure they are brave enough to give up their pretty cool current life for the big Unknown. What could be best then than a part-time baby? You want to play the devoted parents, we’ll rent you ours out for a few hours. It is time for your daily training session, you give it back. Meanwhile, we get a bit of “us” time for running, cycling, mountain biking, climbing, hiking, swimming (you see, I am not short of ideas) too. Perfect.

Oh, and have no fear: we will not rent our baby out to anybody: only deserving part-time parents, with values. You know: outdoorsy, dedicated to training, addicted to pain. We would not want our baby to pick up bad habits while away, and end up a couch potato. God, no.

So this is it. I got the business idea of the decade, did the market studies, drew the business plan, am ready to go. Just need to get the baby out, and I have the feeling that could be the biggest challenge.

Pregnancy, or Adventure With A Twist

Yes, I know, I have been AWOL for a while now. So long that some good souls have even pretended they missed the blog and asked for updates.

Updates? What on, am I some days wondering – and some of these days, with a bit of frustration I must admit. On the other days, it has to be said, I am just plainly not feeling like writing anything more taxing than the shopping list.

It is not like I could brag on a new running PB, dissert about a 50km trail race, go lyrical about some new mountaineering expedition.

So, no PB, no pushing-the-limit craziness then. Meaning: nothing to write home about? Well, considering the fair share of comments and sometimes nearly-abuse from observers and well- or no so well-meaning neighbours or strangers on the roadside, maybe not quite nothing.

After all, there have been a few adventures to recall. An hour and a half train run at five months, in tiny shorts and in the snow. A cycling outing which was uneventful until I decided to spice it up by falling off, or should I say, with (Martin and I are still debating on the technicalities) my bike. An 8 hour hiking epic (note to myself: maps are not just nice, they are meant to be used). Hour-and-a-half spinning sessions with gym staff clearly debating what to do in case I gave birth on the exercise bike. Quads that no weight training session could make so strong, courtesy of hiking and running with the added pregnancy weight. Not to mention more pregnancy-specific “sports” like breathing exercises using technologically-advanced devices such as straws and kid’s balloons (wonder if that could also help my swimming?).

So it looks like my sports life is not so limited, and pregnancy definitely is proving something of an adventure. Which means no excuses not to post. Aside, maybe, from the problematic pregnancy-induced softness of my brain these days?