Watch me run.

The other day, at the gym, someone recognized me. 

No shit, she recognized me. 

I was minding my own business, rocking out to Beyonce, watching the history channel on the TV, doing my workout, when I noticed her glancing over at me. Strange, I thought. She was a few treadmills over from me, which made her glances seem a bit awkward and contorted, and let’s face it, made me nervous that she was going to fall backwards off the treadmill. 

And can I just say that people falling backwards off the treadmill happens more often than I’d care to mention at my gym. 

Anyways, my first thought was about the lady at the gym who told me fat girls couldn’t be runners, so I immediately felt my hackles go up. 

Especially when this new girl stopped her treadmill and started walking towards me; and then she climbed up on the treadmill next to me and started talking. 

Apparently she had read the article in the local Tucson paper last summer that featured me, recognized me from the photo and had to talk to me. 

And let me just point out, she wasn’t creepy or weird. In fact, she was really sweet. Her name was Katie, and she said I inspired her in the newspaper article, so she started reading the blog, and felt challenged to make changes in her own life. She even ran her first 5k in the fall. 

I was totally flattered. Especially since lately I haven’t been much feeling like an inspiration. I mentioned that to her and she told me that is what made me more inspiring, because I was a regular human being who struggled, who worked hard at life, who had faults and who wasn’t perfect. Perfect Imperfection.  

This flattered me even more. And, I must admit, it made me cry in the YMCA. And then Katie cried. And you want to know the truth? It wasn’t the first time I have ever cried in the Y. Big surprise, right? 

Anyways, Katie and I must have bonded over our tears on the treadmill because then Katie called me out on something after she passed me some tissues. Because, you see, bonding equals the ability to call someone out on bullshit. 

“Where have you been, HMM? Why don’t you write anymore? I miss you. And I’m sure I’m not the only one. More importantly, I look forward to your posts. You’re not quitting, are you HMM?” 

Oh Geez. Katie is right. I’ve been avoiding you, dear readers. It is true. I can admit it. Because I have a great big fat secret, and, as you must by now, I’m not great at keeping my personal life to myself. 

However, I couldn’t tell Katie about the secret. I gave her some line about life getting in the way, which isn’t entirely untrue, assured her I wasn’t going anywhere, and gave her the exclusive scoop about the book that is coming out soon. She seemed to understand so we hugged like old friends and went back to our respective workouts. 

Katie got me thinking, though. Regardless of the great big fat secret, sometimes I do get finicky about writing. But only finicky because I like to put my heart and soul into each and every piece I write. But sometimes that kind of emotion requires me to take a step back, look at things, check myself, and then get back to it. 

The weird thing is, even when I’m not writing, or when I have to take an extended break from writing, I’m always working, always thinking about you guys, always thinking about things to write about, experiences to reflect on, a Katie to tell you about. 

Plus I know I you guys are watching. Cause we’ve bonded. Come on, we’ve talked about ass scabs and black toenails; I know you all will call me out on my bullshit. And I’m thankful for that. 

But you haven’t heard any of this, have you? All you saw was great big fat secret, and you started scrolling down, looking for the reveal, right? That is what I would do. 

I’m pregnant. With twins. 

Perhaps you are having the same reaction Mr. Shortpants and I had. Which was something along the lines of not knowing whether to cry or laugh followed by, “You’re kidding, right?” Especially when the ultrasound technician said, “Wait, let me check and make sure there are no more in there.” 

Yes, please do that. Please check on that. Straight away.  

In all seriousness, as shocking as it was to hear that we are having twins, we feel really blessed. Really blessed. For all that we went through last year with the miscarriage and whatnot, we know we are really lucky. 

But you know what is really odd? About four or five weeks before we had the ultrasound where we discovered the twins, I woke up one morning and said, “Wouldn’t it be weird if we had twins?” Mr. Shortpants and I laughed nervously, and then went on with our life. I mean, who says something like that? 

Apparently the pregnant lady who is having premonitions of her TWINS, that is who.

But now you can understand why I had to avoid you guys. Not only was I totally afraid to ruin the secret before I told my family, I was also scared. I was scared to say something because I was scared–I don’t even need to explain that fear, do I? 

So I waited until the first trimester was over. It seemed right. Even though my heart told me everything was going to be fine, and we saw both the heartbeats on two separate occasions, and my OB told me everything looked good and the twins looked healthy, I wanted to wait. And I knew you would understand. 

And now, I begin a new journey. Exciting, isn’t it? 

And yes, I was still running up until 11 weeks. (I’m almost at 14 weeks now.) My doctor who benched me for the tendonitis gave me the clear to start running awhile back and I was given the clear by my OB in regards to the babies, so I kept running.   

That is, until one day I was running and it felt like my uterus was about to fall out of my cervix. And it kind of hurt, too. So I stopped running. I tried a few more times after that to run, but again, I wound up having to stick my hand between my legs to make sure my anatomy was still in it’s rightful place, and let’s face it, they really frown upon you doing that at the gym of all places. 

 It didn’t actually fall out, my uterus, if you were wondering. Apparently, my body was done running. I’ve talked to the OB about what happened and she agreed that stopping was probably a good thing. 

So instead, I walk. A lot. It feels good, it helps me sleep, it makes the nausea and the headaches subside, and let’s face it, working out makes me a nice person. 

So I walk, do strength training on my upper body with light weights (got to get ready to carry both car seats), prenatal yoga, water aerobics, and ride my bike. (The bike is getting more difficult, but I think that has more to do with my impatience with the heat rather than being pregnant. Of course, those two things are probably mutually exclusive.) 

And I’m going to walk a race in July. I missed most of the other races I had planned when I caught pneumonia. And I’ve already picked out a marathon (and a quality double jogging stroller for when the twins are old enough to start running with me) for well after the babies are born so that I can start training again once I get postnatal clearance. 

I do miss running. But my body just won’t give in, I can’t run. And I have more than myself to think about now, so I can’t push it because I’m stubborn. 

Isn’t that ironic? Here my doctor has been on my case for months to slow down and take a solid break from running so that my tendonitis can heal. But did I listen? Nope. Instead I ran and pushed and coerced her into approving me getting off the bench when I probably should have remained benched. 

Oddly, Mr. Shortpants has started running. He is doing the training program that Fleet Feet set out for me. He doesn’t like running and has no long term ambitions to run, but he has set out on getting in good shape for the babies. He calls it “Fit to Be a Father” and he is already kicking ass. He has lost a lot of weight and is working out with a personal trainer as well as running. 

He first started running when I was figuring out that I needed to stop running and I have to admit, I was kind of pissed at first. I was pissed that he could run and I couldn’t. Stupid, huh? 

Even though I know he hates to run and it truly was a chore for him to run, I was still pissed. I would come home from our workouts and slam doors. And it wasn’t just the raging hormones, although I’m sure they didn’t help. 

As the weeks went by, and I saw how much he was enjoying working out, how happy it was making him to be so successful; I decided I had to let it go. I had to let him love running as much as I do. 

I have no doubt that the rest of the pregnancy is going to go by fairly fast and I will be running again in no time. That is the part I was forgetting—it is not like I’m never going to be able to run again. Only right now, while my body says, “No thank you.” And let’s face it– that is really only a blip on the screen of time. 

And speaking of losing weight, I, of course, quit Weight Watchers. However, I am the primary chef in our house so in the effort of supporting Mr. S I cook WW friendly dinners. 

Interestingly enough, for something that has plagued me most of my life, my weight has not been as front burner as you might have expected. I mean, I am of course aware of it and aware of the fact that I should be properly fueling my body with nutritious foods so that the babies can grow big and strong. But in some ways, being pregnant has allowed me a certain amount of freedom. 

There is no dieting, not like I used to diet. No more weighing myself every week. No more obsessing. In fact, my OB thinks I don’t eat quite enough food. During the first trimester, I actually didn’t gain any weight, I lost weight. Not because I was dieting, but because I was quite sick. And she is quite happy with where my weight is now and with how I have been gaining. 

There is freedom in that. Surprising freedom. For the first time in my life, I’m having a healthy relationship with food. Because for the most part (I’m human, I do indulge occasionally) I try and choose healthy foods. I’m choosing fuel. I’m eating to grow the babies, not to fuel my emotions. It is a strange new world. 

And for the first time in my life, weight gain is inevitable. There is no stopping it. I know the healthy recommended weight gain for a woman at my weight that is carrying twins and it is not minus anything. My OB would like to see me gain somewhere between 35-40 pounds. Again, I had to accept it for the health of the babies. I’ve never given myself permission to have an inevitable weight gain. So again, it is a surprising freedom. 

I know our life is about to drastically change. Emphasis on drastically. I’m ecstatically happy and appreciative most days, but some days I walk around, blank faced, saying to anyone who will listen, “TWINS. I’m having TWINS.” Especially when I think about two cribs, two car seats, twice the feedings, twice the crying. 

But something inside of me is reassuring. Something tells me we will manage, and not just manage but flourish. Something tells me that we can figure out anything. That the love will race down the hallways, the hugs will be twice as many, that the laughter will be twice as loud. 

Or maybe that is just what pregnant mothers of multiples have to tell themselves to get through the shock of, TWINS. I’m having TWINS.  

Now that the secret is out (thank goodness!) expect a lot more from me. I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I have a lot more to say. And a lot more journey to amble through. Join me, won’t you?