A self indulgent, self pitying post. Feel free to look away now. Normal (self mocking) service will be resumed once the happy pills kick in again!
Forty…. “It’s not that bad” said one, “Things have never been better” said another… Well, four and a half months in and personally I’m not loving it so far! I’ve lost my enthusiasm for running since I lost my regular babysitter which means (amongst many other shitty things), I’ve gained weight & lost fitness.
Which brings me nicely to the second F..
Fat…. I know my babies were quite large (9lb 14 & 10lb 12) but literally NOTHING could have prepared me for the total physical devastation they caused. I wish I could love my stretch marks, my enormous saggy belly and all the other grossness ‘because I earned them having my babies’.. But I don’t. I detest them, resent them & feel physically sick about them. I have barely shifted an inch in the 19 months since my youngest was born, despite exercise… Literally not a single inch.. And it is nothing short of fucking depressing.
So let’s see who can guess the third F…
If you said ‘Fed up’ you’d be bang on. Summer’s coming (apparently) meaning I can’t hide under heavy layers of clothing, it’s still light in the evening so IF I get out for a run I can be seen.. Although actually, I couldn’t give a rats arse about training at the moment. Not one second of it is enjoyable.
I’ve almost definitely decided to pull out of the Southampton HM.. Last weeks nightmare half was proof it just is not possible to run well when you train, at best, once a week. This time last year I was running regularly, had a baby sitter most Tuesday’s so I could get to club nights and the Husband made an effort to get home early once a week so I could run. Now, none of the above happen and after months of kidding myself it would all be ok, it’s not. And it won’t be. So why torture myself?!
If you know anyone who wants to buy some running gear give me a shout!!