Post Holiday Fitness – From wobbly to where I want to be

So whilst everyone else appears to be slaving away to get themselves beach body ready – I took a more laissez fair approach and just went with what I had. Whilst hairy legs, bushy under carriage and a wobbly bottom are not to be ashamed of I have to say I felt rather less pleased with my decision once I had squeezed myself into my swim costume.

I wouldn’t say that I am overly vain about my appearance but this was a step too far for even my broad shouldered ego. Pre-holiday I had admitted that yes I had gained a few pounds and was in fact the same weight now as I had been when pregnant. Alas this time the culprit was not a 7lb baby but a rather serious issue with burgers. Despite knowing that I was larger than I have ever been I still made the some what rash decision of buying all of my clothes in a size 10. This turned out to be particularly ridiculous when it came to putting on my swim gear. You could say I mastered the floss but not quite the way you would imagine.

The holiday clothes issue was quickly rectified by a couple of new outfits. Obviously that didn’t fix the state of my hair which is in that tricky phase of growing out my pixie cut. Still that phase continues and like I do every time I go through this I vow never to cut it short again. But I know, and I am sure you will have been there too, that this is cyclical process and I will indeed go through his again in a few years time! Still with my wobbly hairy bits covered and an improving tan I made it through the week without having too many hang ups about my appearance.

Now back firmly on UK soil the decision to join the gym before my holiday was a good one. You see this time rather than join a state of the art, fully mirrored, poser gym. You know the ones I mean – full of beautiful 20 somethings in Lycra, looking fabulous barely breaking a sweat whilst running 10 miles. I joined a ladies only gym – where they promised no mirrors and no judgements. They set me up with my own programme; measured all my wobbly bits and spent time taking me through the whole circuit. So when I got back from my hols; feeling fat and a bit self conscious this was all ready for me to start tackling the problem.

So off I trotted on Thursday afternoon – down to my new gym. Where so far I seem to be the youngest person there, but that’s great too. Everyone was nattering and made me feel really welcome. No one cared how many miles I could run or whether my trainers were cool. We were all there for the sole purpose of shedding just a few pounds so we could get our trousers done up again and hopefully increase our basic fitness level just a touch.

It’s strange to me too find myself looking forward to going back again next week. I am only planning on going 3 times a week but hopefully that will make all the difference. Who knows maybe I will get the exercise bug and turn into a real gym bunny. For now my 30 minute low intensity work out makes me feel better in myself and I am sure that I will start to see some results soon with regards to my trousers 👍🏻

The Slow Demise of a Thirty-Something

Alas the demise of the thirty-something has me in its clutches. A fun packed night these days involves a hot brew and an episode of Game of Thrones. Preferably curled up under my cosy chinchilla style white blanket in my best PJs and slippers. Of course there is the occasional glass of wine, but that usually ends up giving me a headache and flushed face. Nope its time to admit that I am now well out of the cool zone. Rubber stamped by the fact that I cannot stand gin. Its no good to me it just tastes like tree.

It was always said that life begun at 40 but nobody ever told us that once you hit thirty things start to head south. I don’t mean the kind of south for the winter kind of south either – well unless you mean my tits. They are definitely in search of the equator.

I have to say the decline of my health, waist line and ability to withstand large amounts of alcohol certainly crept up on me. One minute I was a lively, go-getting, stay up all night twenty-something. I could squeeze into the latest fashions and I didn’t feel out of place in All Saints and Religion. I could rock a spray-on pair of jeans and a backless-frontless top with minimal tit tape and a towering pair of knee high boots. Nowadays the only way I could handle any of the above would be to have scaffolding rods under my nipples, and an exceptionally strong pair of spanks and blister plasters. Of course being less concerned about being cool and more into my creature comforts has its benefits. I can honestly say that no fucks are given about what other people think. Finally I can have my pixie haircut and geeky glasses, and not give a monkeys whether either look like I just got off the cover of Vogue. (Trust me I don’t, but like I said, no fucks given). Equally so I have no issue leaving the house in my ‘dog walking’ coat if its pissing with rain. I guess in a way the thirty-something period is quite liberating. 

Still the one area that really gets my thirty-something knickers in a twist (believe me those gran pants can still get bunched in your fan-a-lan) is that I am ridiculously unfit. Yes I know we should all be gym-going, smoothie drinking yoga masters – but I am not. The crux of the issue is my love of food, all food really but top of the list has to be cheese, english breaksfasts and chips. None of these things are helping my declining waistline. Now whilst I may still look a size 10 on the outside, inside I have fat person arteries! So, I have set myself a challenge… I have decided it is time to undertake a couch to 5K programme.Ok so when I said I had decided it made it sound like a new idea didn’t it? Well that’s not strictly true. You see I decided this over 2 months ago. In my excitement I brought some new running shoes and a running outfit. (I said I didn’t shop at All Saints any more, I didn’t say I had given up shopping!) My shiny new trainers have sat untouched since I unwrapped them. Except for the day I lent them to my mother to walk round Birmingham in… I think if I am totally honest with you, and myself, there has been more couch to kitchen than couch to 5K. 

To save myself from the slow demise of a thirty-something and to I have decided to share with you all my journey to fitness. It’s not going to be pretty – in fact its probably going to be quite sweary and sweaty. Keep up to date with how I am doing by following my story here. Oh and if you see me lycra clad and red faced, just walk on by and avert your eyes. It will save us both a lot of embaressment…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Are you clucking about like a headless chicken blogger? 

If you are reading this you are obviously feeling a bit like a headless chicken blogger. Ah yes I know that feeling. You write an amazing blog post, you want to crow from the roof top. Hit the publish button, scuttle off to tweet it, link it to Facebook, pin it on Pinterest and add it to one of the 4 trillion  linkys you take part in every week. Sit back on your perch, fluff up your feathers and wait for the views to come into roost.

What no one has noticed your frankly clucking marvellous piece of writing? Surely someone wants a piece of this free-range action. It’s ok keep your pecker up. The internet is unfortunately like a battery house. Lots of chickens laying lots of eggs, and none of them are hatching.



It gets you scratching about for ideas. But you have to be careful not to ruffle anyone else’s feathers. You don’t want to end up in a troll pie. But you could definitely handle a viral post comparable to chicken pox. You squeeze out another egg. Cross your claws, and check those stats with your beedy eye… Surely that egg was a double yoker? The blog posts of all blog posts, a pinnacle moment in a chicken, sorry bloggers, life.

Nope, it wasn’t. It didn’t hit everyone’s spot like a fresh bucket of KFC. It made an impression on a few but it has gone mostly unnoticed. See being a chicken blogger is a bit like being a chicken. Once cooked you taste just like everyone else unless you have an amazing sauce to chuck over the top. We are all battery hens in a blogging coop – but a few of us will find our sauce. Will it be you?

A Sticky Bum and The Soy Sauce Disaster of 2016

You know those days where everything appears to conspire against you?! I had such a day this week. It was the day before Pie went to school (more on that later). having finally recovered from a lack of sleep that could only be matched by Nuremberg drivers, I hit the day with positivity. Possibly this was my first mistake!

We had to go get the logo jumpers for Pie’s uniform. I was feeling pretty smug about my plan to go when everyone was back at school. No queuing for us – a quick in and out job. Hmmm yeh right. Having forced two small children into clothes and into the car we arrived at the school wear shop. Pie was banging on about the milkshake I had promised after the shopping, as we attempted to locate said jumpers. After failing miserably to find any, I asked an assistant. Off she went to the stock room, apparently they had loads out back… She was right they did – but only in age 2-3!! Parenting fail number 1.

Cunning plan totally flawed, but not to be disheartened off we trotted for a milkshake. Because you can’t renegade on a promise to a four-year old. They are like elephants they never forget! We popped over to one of our favourite cafes, kid friendly with amazing food. I plan most of my days around eating, so I already knew what deliciousness I was ordering. We sat waiting for my breakfast, Pie colouring and Pudding happily spitting half chewed rice cracker all over the floor. We waited and we waited… Finally after about 40 minutes and a word with the waitress breakfast arrived. Unfortunately by this stage both kids were done sitting, cue the fastest eggs in Birmingham. Those bad boys were delicious but they didn’t touch sides. We then beat a hasty retreat home, no school jumpers and slight indigestion.

jill111 / Pixabay

The afternoon passed in a haze of Star Wars and light sabre battles, as is customary at Pudding HQ. Tea had been decided on earlier that day. Pie had requested pizza, so with a very nutritional frozen pizza in the oven I figured I was onto a winner. Then it happened. The great Soy Sauce Disaster of 2016. Soy sauce with pizza I hear you ask? Well no, actually I though, what this tea needs are some beans. Whilst searching in the cupboards, Pudding at my feet there was a small thud. I thought nothing of it. Popped the beans in the microwave and checked on the pizza.

Pudding was laughing away so I turned to look. Holy hell. Unknown to me the thud had been the soy sauce falling over in the cupboard and who knew it could cause such devastation. It was pouring out of the cupboard, down the microwave off of the sideboard and straight onto Pudding’s head! Where the two sausages were licking it off her face and she was roaring with laughter. I have literally never seen so much soy sauce. It was everywhere. My exclamation spooked the sausages who then proceeded to walk soy sauce paw prints all over the kitchen floor.

PublicDomainPictures / Pixabay

The impending clean up took some time and left Pudding in her pants and two sausage dogs cleaning their own paws. In all this I had totally forgotten about my nutritional pizza in the oven. Which was now burned to a crisp. As I mentioned I love eating, but I am by no means a dab hand in the kitchen. Luckily Pie is used to eating things slightly chargrilled – so we just got on with it!

Finally it was time for a bath and bed. Pudding was whingeing about teeth, so I figured I would give her half a dose of paracetamol to take the edge off at bedtime. I mean no one likes sore teeth right? I pick up the bottle of paracetamol. The buggering lid isn’t on properly. Don’t ask me why, it just isn’t. It falls from my hands, somersaults spraying paracetamol all over the toilet seat and then lands with a plop in the loo. Pie is roaring with laughter as I fish the bottle out. I give the seat a quick wipe. That is it. I am done now.

JeffersonLiu / Pixabay

Two small children decanted into bed, large glass of wine poured. Long exhale from me. About an hour later I pop to the loo. It is only after I sit down I realise my mistake. Should have done a better clean up of the paracetamol. Now I have the worlds stickiest bum! More wine please….

 

Are You Inflicted With Mum Madness?

Ok so we have all heard about the baby brain yes? But are you aware of the very common Mum Madness? Not so talked about perhaps but just as serious!

After my two children I thought that the baby brain would subside. It didn’t. It segways in to mum madness without you even realising. One minute you are putting car keys in the fridge. Next you are shouting at the toddler to stop licking shop windows…

AdinaVoicu / Pixabay

My kids provide no end of stupid to fall out of my mouth. Things that no one could ever have imagined saying. Part of Mum Madness is that the words come out before your realise how utterly ridiculous you sound!

The other major component to Mum Madness is the inability to organise anything. Or should I say you majorly overestimate or worse still underestimate how difficult getting anything done is. Pre children you would stroll from the house, tiny hand bag, bank card and iPhone. Not a care in the world. Head phones in, tunes pumping.

Fast forward 3 years. You are popping to the corner shop. Just a pint of milk that’s all you need. To be sure you have packed a bag the size of Bermuda – 14 outfit changes, 6 nappies, bottle of milk, travel steriliser… The toddler has his scooter and his bike, 6 stuffed bears and in our case a light sabre and a Harry Potter wand. You get to the shop looking like a removal company to discover you don’t have your reusable bag!! (Or your purse!)

StephanieRae_ca / Pixabay

It would just appear that post kids any chance you had of resuming functionality as a person goes out the window. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Perhaps it’s the 50,000 questions you answer in an hour. Or it could be that your poor brain is so busy trying to keep these small people happy and alive there is no room for anything else!

This post first appeared on meetothermums.com