After Thursday's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad run, I let my overactive imagination get the best of me. Not that it's the first time, or anything. I started to wonder if my days of pregnant running were about to come crashing to a halt, and if I wasn't even going to make it to the Half Marathon I was planning to run in a few weeks, let alone the spring full I was hoping for. In my mind I was about to be relegated to brisk walks through the neighborhood, 15-minute miles, and cheering on the sidelines.
But then came Saturday! And while the run I had on Saturday wasn't *fast,* it was comfortable. Minus the bathroom break 6 miles in. Which is the same thing that happened to me last Saturday, resulting in a rather embarrassing mcdonald's pitstop. 10 treadmill miles, helped along by How I Met Your Mother on Netflix. 12 on the schedule for next week.
I also found a local(ish) marathon in early April, that takes place when I'm 33 weeks. If 38 weeks is just a little too close for comfort, maybe they'll be more comfortable with that. Here's to hoping!