I went for my first run this weekend. Oliver was asleep, Eleanor had just gone down for her nap, Tim was readying himself for the UNC vs. Boston College basketball game, and it was a balmy 65 degrees (this kind of weather in early January, even in the South, is a little worrisome to me but that’s a topic for another post). 20 minutes was all I was hoping for – no record breaking distances or speeds. I started slow, ran through my first little cramp, and made it back home (a 2.3 mile loop) in about 23 minutes.
Most (any?) woman who has recently delivered a baby will confirm that there are multiple places where your body may experience a little…to put it politely…leakage. My delivery with Oliver was a little more traumatic (to my body) than most, so there were fully three possible places where I could have experienced the pleasure of little unwanted dripage (gross, I know). Through the first 15 minutes of my run, however, there was none which delighted me to no end. But it was not to last: by the last five minutes or so, a little bit of pee found its way out. Not a flood, mind you, but a little trickle.
So, this is how I’m defining success these days; experiencing only urinary incontinence. I’m a long way from my former running self, but for now I’m okay with that.