As you may have gathered, I am a bit of a fan of running.  Prior to getting my positive wee stick, I went out at least twice a week, for a bit of a bimble around nearby roads and parks.  I was never very fast and never went very far, but I loved it and am the proud possessor of various garish-hued wicking tshirts, a gps watch and a water bottle plus some very snazzy trainers.

In the lead up to the aforementioned positive wee stick, Mr Mark and I were on holiday in Italy- lots of walking but not much opportunity for a jog, then after that I was so busy at work it was actually ‘week 8’ before I managed to get back on the running wagon.

The midwife had said that I’d be fine to carry on doing what ever I’d done pre-pregnancy where exercise was concerned, and though I was worried about what 8-odd weeks off would have done to my fitness levels, I really was rather missing running so decided to get back out there.

Just once a week, very slowly with the occasional walk break, I reasoned with myself would be fine, and so over the next few weeks I built back up to a 5k non-stop lope around the local park and it felt glorious!

Unfortunately somewhere along the way my body decided to stop playing ball- nothing particularly baby-related, but my foot was AGONY! A bit of Google led to a self diagnosis of ligament damage, the usual treatment for which is rest, compression and a bit of ibuprofen.

Now, trusty old nhs online told me ibuprofen is fine to take in your second trimester but for irrational reasons unknown, I decided not to take the advice of the health professionals and instead went for the option of being a total martyr and so now my foot hurts and I can’t run.  Double joy.

Glutton for punishment that I am, I’ve given myself a week off and then I’m going to chance a few ks at the weekend. I don’t think my burgeoning bump will put up with running for to much longer so I’m going to try and get my kicks while I can.

I sometimes dispair of myself, I really do!


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