Look, See Jane Run

I ran today.

It was one lap around the baseball field, with an 80 meter sprint at the end. Because I stopped running in the first trimester of my pregnancy*, and I’m now 9 weeks postpartum, it had been 9 months.

Nine months without running.

I’ve never been a fast runner, but since 2014 I’ve been a consistent runner and I love running. It’s for those two things that I let myself identify as a runner. Today, finally being able to run again, I felt like I was flying. It didn’t matter that my sprint was slow, that my legs were like anchors dragging through a reef; it was soaring.

I felt alive.

I felt like Mattea.

Nineteen days after giving birth safely to my sunshiney daughter, Abigail, I returned to the clinic’s emergency room with a 104 degree fever. That high fever was to last 2 weeks total and I was to spend 9 of those days in the hospital.

It was hemorrhagic dengue (stupid mosquitos) complicated by an amoeba (again) and two different infections. I never needed blood transfusions but the doctor told me I should be thankful to be alive. 

The hardest part of being ill was being separated for days from my newborn daughter (cue the tears). The best part was that my mom flew in. I’d missed that woman a lot.

The illness left me wiped out, paler than a New York winter. I lost all of my pregnancy weight and then some—though was left with the belly so we can’t market dengue and amoebas as the next post-pregnancy weight loss plan. Ha.

I felt incredibly weak, incredibly inept.

Running today, I felt strong and adept.

Víctor and Abigail were in the shade, looking on. I love seeing Abigail’s tiny form in her dad’s arms. She’s 22 inches of cuteness cuddled into 6-and-a-half feet of manliness. Abigail is our dream come true. In the midst of some trying circumstances her baby presence has brought such happiness. She is what I most wanted.

I’ve been given so many things I’d wanted for so many years: a husband, kids, a little baby girl.

In this place of contentment, of dreams fulfilled, I’ve been challenging myself to dream again. For all my life I dreamed of Abigail; now I need to dream with Abigail.

Like I said, dengue wiped me out. In the past, illness has always driven me to put the pedal to the metal. Something about a brush with evil makes you want to fight for what is good.

This time, however, I’ve found myself scared, sorely lacking in confidence. With simple, daily tasks suddenly so difficult while I was ill and recovering for weeks on end, how could I ever think of changing the world? How could I ever think of dreaming?

But I’ve decided to do it. I’ve decided to dream again, to crack open doors and peak inside. To even envision doors where there are none.

I want the people to say of me "look, here comes that dreamer."**

I need to show Abigail how it's done, how dreaming, seeing what´s not there, makes life incredible. 


*I know that if you are active before pregnancy you can stay active and many women continuing running until the bigness just gets uncomfortable. But this being my first pregnancy, I played it safe.

**Quote from Genesis somewhere, when Joseph´s brothers are referencing him. You google it and find the exact chapter and verse.