The title of my post,Perfect Drug, is a song thatpopped up on my iPod while out on my four mile run with Toby this A.M. It's a Nine Inch Nails song from probably over a decade ago. The lyrics are great for running, because running truly is my "perfect drug".
This morning, as with every morning I set out to run since becoming pregnant, I have a battle in my head. My belly is getting bigger. Should I really be doing this? I hear my mother's voice, "Did you tell your doctor you're still running?" I hear the other voices saying, "At some point you're going to have to stop." Is it too hot? Will I overheat and sweat too much? Will the baby be okay? Should I bring Toby? Or will he dart in front in front of me when he sees another dog or bunny, causing me to trip?
You know what? I always had those voices in my head. Even before I became pregnant. I'm an early morning runner. There have been times my alarm went off as early as 4:30 AM to squeeze in a run. 4:30 AM? What am I thinking? But I always did it. I never hit snooze and went back to bed. What motivated me then still motivates me now: the endorphins and runner's high after a great run. Even after a not-so-great run, I still feel better mentally that I didn't give in to the ominous voices.
I didn't give in this morning. The morning air was cool for July. I strapped on my fuel belt - one bottle for me and one for Toby. I chained Toby up and out the door we went. He pooped about 10 minutes into the run, so there I was, pregnant lady jogging with her black Lab and a bag of poop swinging in the breeze. As annoying as it is to carry to poop, I feel better knowing at least he's more comfortable running. Runners know too well the horrors of running when you have to go #2. Ugghh!
I dashed purposefully through some sprinklers. Sang out loud. Started laughing when I heard my favorite hippie song, Goin' Up the Country by Canned Heat. It reminds me of the crunchy, granola folk my husband and I run into when we make our yearly visit to Lake Placid and hike the Adirondacks.
Most of all I was smiling. Smiling that I can still run, as slow as I am right now. Grinning with thoughts that maybe I'm already teaching Baby Barkman about running, the way my father taught me (well, after I was born obviously). Smirking to myself that running most certainly is my drug of choice (especially since I can't really drink much wine right now - grin).
Here's to running pregnant! 26 weeks and counting.