Trimesters to Triathlons: The Triathlon Diary of a Postpartum Mom

Breathe

Have you ever experienced feeling so trapped and constricted within your body that it felt if you didn't bust out your soul was going to be crushed? The longing for a zipper in your skin you could undo so you could step out of it - just leave it laying on the ground – and walk away free. It's not dissimilar to being crammed in an economy airline seat for an overbooked transatlantic flight with the inability to able to move or stretch for eight hours then finally disembarking and making your way past the exiting masses where you can find room in the open space and finally breath. Only significantly worse.

That's how I felt thirty-six weeks into my second pregnancy. Trapped, constricted, unable to breathe. I wanted out and I especially wanted baby out. I had no zipper in my skin. No large open space to escape in. So, I registered for my first half Ironman distance race. The Great White North Triathlon in Stony Plain, Alberta. A 2km swim, 90km bike, and a 21.2 km run. 35 lbs heavier than normal, with the mobility of a pumpkin, and barely able to get out of a chair, it was a brilliant and exciting idea. I can't explain why, and neither can anyone else, nor should they try. The brain of a pregnant woman is a sacrosanct mystery that should be accepted and respected.

Me and pregnancy do not get along.

My body hates it.

I hate it.

I suffer from pre- and post-natal depression. Not severely, but enough to make life unpleasant for me and my husband, Steve. Depression is not something that goes away with a change of attitude. I couldn't make the depression disappear, but maybe I could manage it. I joined a weekly support group for depressed pregnant women - who knew there were so many of us that were miserable? It became my lifeline. I called it my grumpy, unhappy, pregnant women group.

I didn't want to tell anyone I was pregnant because I couldn't stand their congratulations. It meant pretending I was excited to wear the same five items of clothing for the next ten months (the real length of time you're pregnant), to get new stretch marks, lose my favourite sleeping position followed by months of sleepless nights, never ending diapers, and my new role as a food source. Why were they congratulating me?

In some deep recess of my mind, the logical but now silent and powerless part, I knew I loved my baby - even though all I felt toward it was ambivalence, with a smattering of anger and resentment for the misery it was causing me. I was doing everything I could to ensure baby's good health and mine. I had the same feelings during my first pregnancy with Ashley and now she's the most precious thing in my life. Despite knowing this, I was dreading the arrival of the new life wriggling inside me. That's the power of depression.

The Great White North Triathlon, or GWN, is held the first Sunday of July in Stony Plain, Alberta. It sells out every year. I stayed up until midnight the day of registration to ensure I got a spot. Not a difficult feat since pregnant women don't sleep more than a few hours at night - I read once it has something to do with helping the mother get used to waking up with a new-born. More like it's impossible to sleep when there's a medicine ball tied to your midsection and a foot jammed between your ribs.

"Only the strong survive." That's the motto of the race. Reading the glowing words on the computer monitor I got goosebumps. My stomach started flip-flopping and not because the baby was turning around. It was the first time I felt real excitement since becoming pregnant. I wanted to be strong; physically and mentally. I wanted to survive the race and the entire pregnancy, motherhood experience. I felt that if I could finish this race, I would be okay.

I completed the online registration form then printed my race confirmation. I just stared at it. There it was. I was going to do this. I couldn't sleep now. I was doing a half Ironman! I wanted to jump up and down but with my extra passenger the thought of trying to vault myself in the air was inconceivable. I wanted to tell my husband, but he was sleeping. I wanted to call someone but everyone I knew would be in bed. I posted my news on Facebook.