Skip to main content

How Running Makes You Pregnant

In my recent post entitled "Rockin' and Rollin' but mostly Rollin'", I referenced my previous attempts to be a runner. I did not go into detail, though I'm fairly certain a few of you went to YouTube to see if there were any comedy skits with a theme of 'knock-kneed runners', or 'funniest running styles' or 'people that should not be running'. I've not Googled it, mostly because I forget what I was supposed to be googling when I sit down at the computer.

What got a few snickers from friends or quizzical looks from that post, was my reference to running making me pregnant. It's a quick story and has a happy ending (Delaney).

About 20 years ago, (exactly 20 in fact since the aforementioned Delaney turned 19 in November) I decided to secretly train for the Old Kent Riverbank Run.( It's now called the Fifth Third.) I wasn't planning to run the whole, long gazillion mile race but was thinking the 5K or hopefully even shorter if they had one. I was going to do it as an anniversary or birthday gift for my hubby because he liked to run and I thought it was something we could do together. And John knew how much I didn't like running so he would, I thought, appreciate my effort and thought. So, with the YWCA gift membership I got for Christmas, I started running on the treadmill in addition to aqua aerobics. I was getting in great shape and lost about 20 pounds in two months. It wasn't fun, in fact I found it rather mundane, running. So then, when the weather got warmer I began to run outside (that's where the YouTube videos or comedy skits would have been inspired). While my enjoyment didn't increase, at least I could see what was going on in the 'hood' while I was running around instead of staring at a TV screen or watching other women working out in the Y. I'm not a nosy neighbor, just curious and I would use what I saw on those runs to create stories in my mind as entertainment (I have always had the imagination of a writer, if not the discipline).

But it was getting more difficult to run and at first, I chalked it up to the fact that I was running outside on uneven terrain. And then, not only was it more difficult to run but I wasn't losing any more weight despite an increased distance I was running. I kept at it though.

About four months into my new secret running routine, one of the boys got sick and I took them to the doctor's office. I asked the nurse, Christine, if I could take a pregnancy test - I hadn't thought of it before but something (someone?) inspired the question. So, I went into the bathroom to pee into the cup and with Michael and Matthew in tow - at the time they were 4 and 2. They looked at what I was doing with such curiosity, "Mom, whatcha doin'?" they asked. (Later that night when they were in the bathroom, supposedly brushing their teeth, I heard them laughing and went in to see them replicating the 'peeing in a cup' trick they'd witnessed earlier. I think I got rid of the Dixie cup dispenser that night.)

You guessed it, Christine came back in with the biggest smile and carrying the test stick. "You're pregnant," she beamed. I broke down in tears. She looked confused and handed me the tissues and asked one of the other nurses to take the boys out to play in the waiting room.

I told her that I wasn't unhappy, just a little shocked. I had been running to get ready for this race and it was a present for John and I don't know how it happened and we had two healthy boys and I was running to be with my hubby and ...  I went on for about another minute. And looked up at Christine, who had been listening and was smiling back at me. She said "You don't know how this happened? {pause} Clearly, it was the running that made you pregnant!"

So, there you have it. A medical professional acknowledged that running made me pregnant. I don't care that she said it with a big grin followed by a hug followed by side-splitting laughter from both of us. She said it. And she's a professional.

So, there you have it. There was an Immaculate Conception and my Intractable Conception! 

Comments

It's not a popularity contest, but ...

Ten Year

When I was in junior high school, I staged a sit-in and learned about 'ten year'. This will come as a total surprise to most of you readers - I was not a perfectly well behaved child. I know, I know - you're shocked, amazed, in wonder how I could have turned out to be so well-behaved despite the oats sown in my youth.  And the sit-in is a perfect example of how I marched to the beat of my own drummer. Miss Brown was an English teacher - and not a very popular one. She would invoke the yardstick on wayward student's hands and scowl the moment we walked into the classroom. We weren't very kind to Miss Brown but then she wasn't very kind to us, either. Personally, the hardest part of having Miss Brown as an English teacher is that she nearly ruined my love of my favorite topic in school. It was the year we were to learn grammar (have I ever mentioned that as a writer I detest grammar?). I think some new way of teaching English was introduced and in all l...

Blubbering Idiot

While doing crunches this morning, I turned on the TV to keep my mind off the exercise I was about to do and the movie "Gran Torino" was playing. It was nearly 3/4 of the way done. Perfect, I thought, I can watch the end of one of my newest favorite movies. Fifteen minutes later, I'm a puddle of tears on the floor. The end of that movie dissolves me to tears every time - and I think I've seen it now about six or seven times. When Clint Eastwood's character goes about his last day - including a lame confession with the priest - locking 'Toad' in the basement, I begin to get weepy. SCENE SPOILER ALERT ! But when he is shot down and is splayed as though crucified on the cross, I become a blubbering idiot. So much softness and sacrifice in one so tough and gruff - it highlights the intensity of his sacrifice for his new family next door. I only need watch the last few minutes of "Gran Torino" to get the full emotional effect. The same can be said...

Hair today gone tomorrow

Before you all begin to think I’m breezing completely through chemo, let me remind you of this:   For the most part I am bald. Or if not completely bald, fuzzy headed, and not in the way I think or am thinking, but in the appearance. A little like a hedgehog or a porcupine with bald patches. On Super Bowl Sunday while most of you were overeating or filling out those little squares to wager on the upcoming game, John and I were having a unique pre-game party. In front of our bathroom mirror with clippers and scissors. Preparing for the certainty of hair loss from my chemo, I decided to buzz my locks to lessen the shock and mess of of losing large chunks of my silver, shoulder-length hair. It was in all honesty one of the most poignant moments in our 30+  year marriage. I had originally asked my friend and former stylist if she could do it . But when I shared my plan with John, he said that he wanted to do it. Certainly that was not expected. So instead of watching th...