My first pregnancy had complications resulting in strict bed rest at 29 weeks through the end of the pregnancy. My second pregnancy required a more modified bed rest starting at 31 weeks, until the end. (Oh, and these precious little babies were only 13 months apart.)

Yep, two babies in a little over a year. This meant I barely recovered before we had baby #2 on the horizon. Because of the challenges with my previous pregnancy, this momma couldn’t walk much, let alone run during this second pregnancy. My body was a sacrifice for my kiddos, and I felt it.

Before children, running was my go-to adventure. It was my excuse for travel — hello Dublin Marathon! — and my sanctuary. Running helped build my community as I connected with friends over long runs. It was my lifeline.

I met God on those runs. I talked with Him at length. I professed my gratefulness to Him and listed all the good things in life, whether I felt them or not. I pleaded my case in prayer. And, at times, I lamented great loss. Running was a wholistic endeavor for me.

After baby #2 was born, our condo in the city was a little tight. We knew it was time to move to the suburbs. This meant I was leaving my lake-front running path in the beautiful Windy City of Chicago for who knows what? Sidewalks and streetlights? I couldn’t run on my beloved path for what seemed like ages, and now we were leaving it forever.

Read the rest in the my guest blog post on Dorina Gilmore’s blog.