Week 2 (3 April 2017 - 9 April 2017)
TL;DR: Spent most of this week recovering from HFMD. It was one of the worst weeks of my life with two children thus far, beating even those weeks Andrew had unexplained diarrhoea which just wouldn't abate, even with Hidrasec and Isomil. For someone used to doing almost everything around the house, often multi-tasking, it was painful both physically and mentally to have to accept the limitations brought on by whatever strain of the Coxsackie virus this was (and there are so many more, woe is us).
But I was thankful for the fact that I didn't have much of a sore throat and that Andrew's symptoms were really mild - maybe one spot on each hand and one on his left big toe, probably a sore throat for about a day and a half - and cleared up within 4 days or so. Daniel seems to have escaped it completely. Husband is now on Day 5 and his sores are drying up nicely. His symptoms started the night before he was to fly to Jakarta for business, so he was in time to cancel his trip and not spread HFMD to a plane full of unsuspecting people.
As before, if you can't be arsed to read this in totality, scroll down and look out for what is in bold and underlined.
Monday, 3 April - Thursday, 6 April
See "TL;DR" section above. A notable highlight of this period is Daniel being quarantined at my parents' for two days - the two most painful days for me, Day 3 and Day 4 (Monday and Tuesday) - and not pooing, then arriving home on Wednesday and doing a huge poo within 10 minutes of his arrival. My mother messaged me around the same time he accomplished this feat, telling me she was worried he was constipated. I told her, after I cleaned him up, that his poo-dar was just very advanced i.e. poos are to take place only when Mummy is around.
These four days were the sort of days which made me seriously question if I was cut out to be a mother - I was mostly short-tempered and yell-ey, unable to keep my frustration at not being my usual overachieving self (sniggers) in check, and picking on Daniel when I knew I should have shown more patience and grace. The gnawing hunger I generally experienced was compounded by a lack of appetite and inability to eat very much, and ironically, although I am at my lightest since that awful first trimester with Andrew, it's not a good time to be losing weight and muscle and I have been trying to make up for it as best I can.
It wasn't all bad, though. Some things we had fun doing included playing the game Let's Make Didi Laugh! (I beat Daniel by a mile), watching Dinotrux, and having Husband finally explain its basic premise to me.
Sunday, 9 April
Daniel and I are certified fit for work and school. I sacrifice a nap to write this update.
***
As promised, I now leave you with tips for training for a long-distance race (probably not applicable if you are already at some very high level of fitness, or were at a very high level of fitness before having children, or are a male, or don't have children, so you can ignore me if you fall into any one of those categories):
TL;DR: Spent most of this week recovering from HFMD. It was one of the worst weeks of my life with two children thus far, beating even those weeks Andrew had unexplained diarrhoea which just wouldn't abate, even with Hidrasec and Isomil. For someone used to doing almost everything around the house, often multi-tasking, it was painful both physically and mentally to have to accept the limitations brought on by whatever strain of the Coxsackie virus this was (and there are so many more, woe is us).
But I was thankful for the fact that I didn't have much of a sore throat and that Andrew's symptoms were really mild - maybe one spot on each hand and one on his left big toe, probably a sore throat for about a day and a half - and cleared up within 4 days or so. Daniel seems to have escaped it completely. Husband is now on Day 5 and his sores are drying up nicely. His symptoms started the night before he was to fly to Jakarta for business, so he was in time to cancel his trip and not spread HFMD to a plane full of unsuspecting people.
As before, if you can't be arsed to read this in totality, scroll down and look out for what is in bold and underlined.
Monday, 3 April - Thursday, 6 April
See "TL;DR" section above. A notable highlight of this period is Daniel being quarantined at my parents' for two days - the two most painful days for me, Day 3 and Day 4 (Monday and Tuesday) - and not pooing, then arriving home on Wednesday and doing a huge poo within 10 minutes of his arrival. My mother messaged me around the same time he accomplished this feat, telling me she was worried he was constipated. I told her, after I cleaned him up, that his poo-dar was just very advanced i.e. poos are to take place only when Mummy is around.
These four days were the sort of days which made me seriously question if I was cut out to be a mother - I was mostly short-tempered and yell-ey, unable to keep my frustration at not being my usual overachieving self (sniggers) in check, and picking on Daniel when I knew I should have shown more patience and grace. The gnawing hunger I generally experienced was compounded by a lack of appetite and inability to eat very much, and ironically, although I am at my lightest since that awful first trimester with Andrew, it's not a good time to be losing weight and muscle and I have been trying to make up for it as best I can.
It wasn't all bad, though. Some things we had fun doing included playing the game Let's Make Didi Laugh! (I beat Daniel by a mile), watching Dinotrux, and having Husband finally explain its basic premise to me.
Despite all that, I had way too much time to think about Things. Sleep didn't come easily due to the itch in my hands, my general irritation at being stuck at home, and my worrying about how much fitness I would potentially lose. Something which nagged at me in particular was what I have to prove by doing this and blogging about it and sharing my thoughts with everyone. Instagram is filled (okay, the algorithm is biased) with #motherrunners posting daily and weekly mileage, new personal records and the like; the "gold standard" seems to be having 3 kids and/ or a sub-4 hour marathon timing at the very least, and the sooner you achieve a personal best after having your last child, the better. Kudos to you, too, for having a full-time job, making breakfast, packing lunches, making dinner, and following your usually very demanding training schedule.
Running apps have made it too easy to obsess over yours and others' training progress. Even though I make an effort not to Runkeeper my runs and do not own a GPS watch (shocking, I know), it's come to a point where I am perhaps just a bit too mindful of the distance markings on the PCN, and monitoring the time elapsed whenever I'm out running. And tracking improvements or lack thereof and haolianning about them or berating yourself (respectively) is what this kind of irritating blog and social media posts are about, RIGHT? Last weekend, Husband acceded to my request to drive down my running route so we could track the distance I covered on my long run (the one before I succumbed to HFMD. It turned out to be more than 16km).
But to what end? What is it I have to prove? Why do I force myself to wake up after too little sleep, give up lunches and human interaction, sometimes go the entire day without saying anything to anyone else other than my family members despite having a full-time job and colleagues? I really don't think bragging rights can be the main motivating factor, and if you want to be skinny and fairly fit, you don't actually have to put yourself through such punishment. (The key is to eat less, drink mostly water and maybe one or two teas a day with less or no sugar, and a moderate amount of exercise about three to four times a week. Some running, some yoga, maybe a spin class or two if that's your thing, and you're set.)
I concluded, during a night where sleep eluded me, that there is value in having personal goals which are my own, and not tied to my identity as a mother and a wife, and a lawyer. Some days, I feel like I'm losing myself because of what's expected of me (self-imposed expectations or otherwise), and the knowledge that I am working towards running faster, running better, keeps me plodding away through life; the runs and workouts themselves are precious minutes and hours which ground me, and help me to remember that I am at once more, and less than that - I am just another human being God created, a speck in the universe, as anonymous to whoever I pass on the road and running track as they are to me.
There is value in being so alone, if only for a while.
The less emo, less moody, and more rational explanation is that I just like running. In addition to how I feel during the runs themselves, there is something very shiok about drinking ice cold ice lemon tea siu dai and eating siu yoke rice from my favourite coffeeshop after a long run, and that ever so slight feeling of smugness that comes with the pleasant soreness in my muscles.*
*There is nothing shiok, however, about having to rock my fat baby to sleep and having to give in to Daniel's demands to be carried when we're out walking and he's tired.
Friday, 7 April
My hands have more or less stopped itching. The fog and frustration lifts, and there is a palpable shift in my mood. I stop being so emo and moody and over-thinking this stupid running thing, because this is Day 7 and I am technically sort of not-contagious anymore (okay, I probably still am, but I am going to head out to the doctor's to try and get myself certified fit for work come Monday!)!
The doctor says I am probably still a public health hazard, and finds one spot at the back of Daniel's mouth. I try to convince her that it's toothbrush trauma, but she doesn't certify us fit for work and school. Andrew, however, is. She tells me to come back on Sunday. (It's covered by Husband's company insurance anyway, so why not?)
At 6.40pm, I make it out for a run. Just under 6km at a comfortable pace, with some strides. Pushed it a little because I'm irritating that way.
Saturday, 8 April
Husband's condition is somewhat improved, and he grudgingly allows me to go out for another run. Because I don't know how to take things easy, I decide to do a tempo run, but maintain a slower pace for the tempo part. This run consisted of:
for a total of 55 minutes ++ of running. The tempo part was really painful, but as Husband pointed out, what was I expecting?There is value in being so alone, if only for a while.
The less emo, less moody, and more rational explanation is that I just like running. In addition to how I feel during the runs themselves, there is something very shiok about drinking ice cold ice lemon tea siu dai and eating siu yoke rice from my favourite coffeeshop after a long run, and that ever so slight feeling of smugness that comes with the pleasant soreness in my muscles.*
*There is nothing shiok, however, about having to rock my fat baby to sleep and having to give in to Daniel's demands to be carried when we're out walking and he's tired.
Friday, 7 April
My hands have more or less stopped itching. The fog and frustration lifts, and there is a palpable shift in my mood. I stop being so emo and moody and over-thinking this stupid running thing, because this is Day 7 and I am technically sort of not-contagious anymore (okay, I probably still am, but I am going to head out to the doctor's to try and get myself certified fit for work come Monday!)!
The doctor says I am probably still a public health hazard, and finds one spot at the back of Daniel's mouth. I try to convince her that it's toothbrush trauma, but she doesn't certify us fit for work and school. Andrew, however, is. She tells me to come back on Sunday. (It's covered by Husband's company insurance anyway, so why not?)
At 6.40pm, I make it out for a run. Just under 6km at a comfortable pace, with some strides. Pushed it a little because I'm irritating that way.
Saturday, 8 April
Husband's condition is somewhat improved, and he grudgingly allows me to go out for another run. Because I don't know how to take things easy, I decide to do a tempo run, but maintain a slower pace for the tempo part. This run consisted of:
- Warm-up of about 5.6km in just under 33 minutes
- Tempo run of about 4.2km in just under 22 minutes, so about 5:15/km (but it may be slower. I don't know, and am trying not to care (see above))
Sunday, 9 April
Daniel and I are certified fit for work and school. I sacrifice a nap to write this update.
***
As promised, I now leave you with tips for training for a long-distance race (probably not applicable if you are already at some very high level of fitness, or were at a very high level of fitness before having children, or are a male, or don't have children, so you can ignore me if you fall into any one of those categories):
- Do it before you have children. I was actually going to say "Don't have children", but I figured that would have been insensitive - and anyway, EVERYONE wants children, right? Those cute, charming, lovely little bundles of joy. And germs. Who occasionally exhibit sociopathic behaviour, and need EVERYTHING to be done for them. Even after they start walking and talking.
- If you have children, wait until they're older, i.e. when their sleep is more predictable. Or maybe you have a magic baby who, from birth, put him or herself to sleep and slept 12 hours every single night despite the occasional sniffles and scourge known as Teething! If so, lucky you! If not, and if you, like me, for some reason decide that you want to do something like this when you are less than a year post-partum (which is usually when their sleep becomes a bit more predictable), see the next tip.
- Farm the child/ children out as much as possible. To your live-in domestic help, grandparents, husband, anyone who is a capable caregiver. Unless you, like me, have decided to go at parenthood without the first, have an overactive conscience and sense of duty which prevents you from imposing too much on the second, and have a husband who also needs time alone to do his own workouts - all the best. It can be done, because women and mothers are a tough species, but I have absolutely no idea what to expect from race day itself and neither will you.
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