I entered the Marathon Hebrides (the first full marathon to be held on the Isle of Harris) while I was still pregnant. Obviously pregnant with my first baby and therefore had grand illusions of what motherhood would be like. I bought a treadmill so that I could train when my future baby 'napped.'
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, said my baby boy. At five months old, he doesn't nap and wakes up every 1-2 hours at night to feed (or cuddle, or just say hi, or something). We haven't even thought about weaning. Oops. Oh well, we'd booked the accommodation, ferry tickets, car hire and my ma to come babysit from New Zealand. My postpartum recovery was not as easy as I'd expected. Turns out running and swimming until the baby pops out aids neither labour nor recovery. Should have sat on my arse and eaten more cake. My training had to start with walk/jogging 1km at 8 week postpartum, a few weeks break as directed by the physio and then a pretty swift leap to 10km after 12 weeks. One long run every two weeks was a struggle, with Scott and I tag teaming the parental duties. Fortunately, Carolyn Rae, fresh from a Western States finish, helped me out with a few 30km jogs. Scott's training plan consisted of one run per week, doubling his mileage each week. An efficient approach!
As it was the first year the marathon had been held, organisation was a little chaotic. Four hundred runners but only 40 parking spaces on an island with virtually no public transport. And even then, a shuttle from the parking paddock to registration, which was only open for three hours the night before. In the morning we were to drive an hour from where we were staying on the Isle of Lewis (it's hard to get accommodation) to the parking paddock and from there take a bus to the start line. At the end, we'd have another hour to drive before I would be able to feed the Master. My boobs were leaking at the very thought. Cue a rather tearful mum in the registration line. Fortunately, one of the organiser's had a new baby who was being breastfed at that very moment and took pity on me. Or perhaps he just didn't want my hormones rocketing around the registration room. So I fed the Master at the start line and would see him again as soon as I finished. Cue emotional relief.
At the start there were only two toilets so a large number of runners had to use the bathroom while being tickled by heather and using the local hand soap. Scott and I both chose to wear packs as we expected to be out on the course for a long time. Scott's carried the rural essentials; bivouac, Swiss army knife, camping stove, dehydrated food. I carried my breast pump, a couple of baby bottles and an entire packet of sweets.
The race started in Rodel, in the south of Harris. The first six mile loop involved a small trail section, some sheep and some nice views. We both got to give the Master a kiss shortly after the six mile mark and received a toothless grin in return. From there, we entered a lunar-like landscape which stretched for miles. Houses were dotted about and locals waved from their windows. Only fools would be out. It was all very pleasant and Scott and I jogged together, enjoying our longest date in five months. An older gentleman jogging along in jeans and a fleece was slightly ahead of us. Not that this was an indication of our pace, he was exceptionally fast of course.
Scott's efficient training schedule began to let him down slightly and he slowed. So far, the route was undulating with runners beginning to walk the lunar hills. At one point a sheep definitely went for me, jealous at the attention I was receiving from Scott. Or perhaps it was a giant horned lamb who wanted my milk.
By mile 18 I was getting cold walking up hills in the 40mph headwinds so Scott could catch me and we decided to go separate ways for the remainder of our date. Scott was headed to a whisky bar with the guys and I was off for some wine tasting with the ladies. Or maybe that's not quite what happened.
Anyway, I was quite happy plodding along. The first attempt at using the breast pump was successful, albeit a little clunky. I had to wear a crop top for support but also a maternity bra for access as I do not own a maternity running bra. It's so complicated being a woman. Adding to that I needed to undo my bag, unzip my rain jacket and get a milk funnel attached to a bottle under a t-shirt and vest. While attempting to jog. I managed to get a bit of milk which I then fed to a local lamb as it skipped beside me discussing the weather. On my second attempt, I get my clothing all arranged, set my pump up on someone's stone wall, and find out the batteries have gone flat. With 8km to go, I was now carrying half my body weight in my breasts alone and needed to haul it to get to the finish and feed the Master. The other runners must have wondered what on earth was going on as I'd pass them, then stop to pump, then pass them again.
When you picture someone 'hauling it' you may imagine that they go at great speed. Picture again. We're talking hills and some serious headwind power. Oh the wind!! My French braids are now permanently perpendicular to my body. The views of the golden beaches and turquoise water were amazing though. Not amazing enough that I needed to run the final half kilometre on the sandy beach for a close up though. Cones marking the course across the sand began to get swept away as the tide came in. There were a number of supporters standing on the beach but no indication of where the finish line was. Eventually a guy with a clipboard waved; the finish flags had blown over and the two volunteers had jackets over their marshal vests because it was so cold. A slightly anticlimactic finish. And then we had to climb over a sand dune to get to the cars.
In a frantic attempt to feed the Master I undressed myself, forgetting that my bag of dry clothes was sitting in a marquee even further away. The bags had been sitting on wet ground so the dry clothes were a then a little damp. We couldn't find a changing area or toilet so had to do a bit of car Twister to get dressed while juggling a baby and our two very cold babysitters.
In hindsight, training for a marathon after having a baby was not very realistic. However, I felt pretty comfortable and happy throughout the run so the three runs above 20km that I managed clearly did the trick! It may have been easier to choose a marathon with easier logistics; less shuttles, somewhere warm for Master to wait, an earlier registration time... and perhaps a flat course with better weather. It took so long to run that it felt like an ultra. In fact, I've run the D33 - a 33 mile race - faster than this marathon on two occasions! But we all survived to tell the woolly windy tale. In my panic a few weeks ago, I started searching for other women that had run marathons with young babies so I could pick up any tips. Mostly, women had spent nine months training for a half marathon which did not quite fit my criteria. So, if you're reading this because you registered for a full marathon while pregnant and you're now a few months postpartum and wondering what you were thinking... stay calm and pump through it.
Harris is lovely!
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, said my baby boy. At five months old, he doesn't nap and wakes up every 1-2 hours at night to feed (or cuddle, or just say hi, or something). We haven't even thought about weaning. Oops. Oh well, we'd booked the accommodation, ferry tickets, car hire and my ma to come babysit from New Zealand. My postpartum recovery was not as easy as I'd expected. Turns out running and swimming until the baby pops out aids neither labour nor recovery. Should have sat on my arse and eaten more cake. My training had to start with walk/jogging 1km at 8 week postpartum, a few weeks break as directed by the physio and then a pretty swift leap to 10km after 12 weeks. One long run every two weeks was a struggle, with Scott and I tag teaming the parental duties. Fortunately, Carolyn Rae, fresh from a Western States finish, helped me out with a few 30km jogs. Scott's training plan consisted of one run per week, doubling his mileage each week. An efficient approach!
As it was the first year the marathon had been held, organisation was a little chaotic. Four hundred runners but only 40 parking spaces on an island with virtually no public transport. And even then, a shuttle from the parking paddock to registration, which was only open for three hours the night before. In the morning we were to drive an hour from where we were staying on the Isle of Lewis (it's hard to get accommodation) to the parking paddock and from there take a bus to the start line. At the end, we'd have another hour to drive before I would be able to feed the Master. My boobs were leaking at the very thought. Cue a rather tearful mum in the registration line. Fortunately, one of the organiser's had a new baby who was being breastfed at that very moment and took pity on me. Or perhaps he just didn't want my hormones rocketing around the registration room. So I fed the Master at the start line and would see him again as soon as I finished. Cue emotional relief.
At the start there were only two toilets so a large number of runners had to use the bathroom while being tickled by heather and using the local hand soap. Scott and I both chose to wear packs as we expected to be out on the course for a long time. Scott's carried the rural essentials; bivouac, Swiss army knife, camping stove, dehydrated food. I carried my breast pump, a couple of baby bottles and an entire packet of sweets.
The race started in Rodel, in the south of Harris. The first six mile loop involved a small trail section, some sheep and some nice views. We both got to give the Master a kiss shortly after the six mile mark and received a toothless grin in return. From there, we entered a lunar-like landscape which stretched for miles. Houses were dotted about and locals waved from their windows. Only fools would be out. It was all very pleasant and Scott and I jogged together, enjoying our longest date in five months. An older gentleman jogging along in jeans and a fleece was slightly ahead of us. Not that this was an indication of our pace, he was exceptionally fast of course.
Scott's efficient training schedule began to let him down slightly and he slowed. So far, the route was undulating with runners beginning to walk the lunar hills. At one point a sheep definitely went for me, jealous at the attention I was receiving from Scott. Or perhaps it was a giant horned lamb who wanted my milk.
By mile 18 I was getting cold walking up hills in the 40mph headwinds so Scott could catch me and we decided to go separate ways for the remainder of our date. Scott was headed to a whisky bar with the guys and I was off for some wine tasting with the ladies. Or maybe that's not quite what happened.
Anyway, I was quite happy plodding along. The first attempt at using the breast pump was successful, albeit a little clunky. I had to wear a crop top for support but also a maternity bra for access as I do not own a maternity running bra. It's so complicated being a woman. Adding to that I needed to undo my bag, unzip my rain jacket and get a milk funnel attached to a bottle under a t-shirt and vest. While attempting to jog. I managed to get a bit of milk which I then fed to a local lamb as it skipped beside me discussing the weather. On my second attempt, I get my clothing all arranged, set my pump up on someone's stone wall, and find out the batteries have gone flat. With 8km to go, I was now carrying half my body weight in my breasts alone and needed to haul it to get to the finish and feed the Master. The other runners must have wondered what on earth was going on as I'd pass them, then stop to pump, then pass them again.
When you picture someone 'hauling it' you may imagine that they go at great speed. Picture again. We're talking hills and some serious headwind power. Oh the wind!! My French braids are now permanently perpendicular to my body. The views of the golden beaches and turquoise water were amazing though. Not amazing enough that I needed to run the final half kilometre on the sandy beach for a close up though. Cones marking the course across the sand began to get swept away as the tide came in. There were a number of supporters standing on the beach but no indication of where the finish line was. Eventually a guy with a clipboard waved; the finish flags had blown over and the two volunteers had jackets over their marshal vests because it was so cold. A slightly anticlimactic finish. And then we had to climb over a sand dune to get to the cars.
In a frantic attempt to feed the Master I undressed myself, forgetting that my bag of dry clothes was sitting in a marquee even further away. The bags had been sitting on wet ground so the dry clothes were a then a little damp. We couldn't find a changing area or toilet so had to do a bit of car Twister to get dressed while juggling a baby and our two very cold babysitters.
In hindsight, training for a marathon after having a baby was not very realistic. However, I felt pretty comfortable and happy throughout the run so the three runs above 20km that I managed clearly did the trick! It may have been easier to choose a marathon with easier logistics; less shuttles, somewhere warm for Master to wait, an earlier registration time... and perhaps a flat course with better weather. It took so long to run that it felt like an ultra. In fact, I've run the D33 - a 33 mile race - faster than this marathon on two occasions! But we all survived to tell the woolly windy tale. In my panic a few weeks ago, I started searching for other women that had run marathons with young babies so I could pick up any tips. Mostly, women had spent nine months training for a half marathon which did not quite fit my criteria. So, if you're reading this because you registered for a full marathon while pregnant and you're now a few months postpartum and wondering what you were thinking... stay calm and pump through it.
Harris is lovely!
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