I’m not a runner. I go out running regularly (rarely), but I am not a runner. As soon as my trainers hit the ground they sound out the rhythm of ‘go home’ ‘go home’. After half an hour the beat is some what slower ‘go…home, go…..home’. After forty five minutes, I am usually limping with some kind of age related pain and I just hear the word ‘home, home, home on repeat. By the time I hit one hour, even my playlist is telling me to give up. Bon Jovi tells me ‘Oooh we’re half way there, oh oh just go home.’ (Sing it, it totally works). Or Meatloaf tells me that ‘Like a Bat out of Hell’ he’ll be ‘home when the morning comes. Like a Bat out of Hell’ he’ll be ‘home home home.’ You’re loving my playlist aren’t you?
Finally, when I do get home, I get my breath back and feel like I could do it all over again. However, then I look at my running app and it tells me this:I have found it difficult to lose my extra baby weight the second time round, mostly because I don’t diet and eat copious amounts of chocolate. My Facebook time line is often filled with people participating in the Total Warrior, The Major Series and the Tough Mudder. I particularly love (hate) waking up at 6am every morning knowing that some lovely svelte mum, who I haven’t seen since school, has already clocked up 15 miles and is sharing it on Facebook. (Don’t stop doing it btw – it’s me who needs sorting out – not you, you’re perfect…) Also, as I write this (I wish I was kidding), I have just inhaled a bag of Mini-Boosts. After having my second child, I vowed to get fit (not thin), but alas, it’s all gone by the wa(ist) side. Rather than moan into empty bag of Boosts though, I aim to see the positives in this situation. No longer will I say ‘so effing what’ when I see that some mum has managed 15 miles before breakfast. No more will I lounge around in my netball jogging bottoms thanking the Lord for their elastic waist band. Never again will I eat a huge cheeseburger (thank you TGI Friday) and complain that I have just consumed enough calories to last me up until my next birthday because I have decided that everyday is a work out for me as I am forever multi-tasking. Therefore, ladies and gentlemen, mummies and daddies, I present to you: The Rough Mutha – An assault course not for the faint at heart, but for the weak at will. Having done this course a number of times over the last three and a half years, I just don’t know why the weight isn’t dropping off me to be honest. (I do, it’s the chocolate, cakes and carbs.) Obstacle One – Retrieve wet washing from the machine one handed, take it outside, hang it out to dry all while balancing your baby on your hip.
This is one of my favourite challenges because not only are you working your biceps as, if you are like me, you will cram as much dirty washing in your machine as physically possible so when it comes out wet, it actually weighs the same as the bundle of joy balancing in your left arm. What’s really great about this activity is that no matter how I scoop the washing up, one of the Other Half’s PE socks will ALWAYS fall onto the kitchen floor. Then I have to squat to pick it up. And when I stand, another one falls, and another… Why does he have so many damn socks?
Obstacle Two – Breastfeeding and maintaining the latch while you take your three year old for a poo
Ah, this one I haven’t done in a while since weaning began, but in the early days, I was an expert.
The girl: “Mummy! I neeeeed a poooo!”
Me: “Your brother is feeding. You’re old enough to go sit on the toilet and I will be with you in a minute.”
The girl (voice raised): “Mum! It’s coming out!”
Grabbing the boy’s head gently and yet firmly, I would heave myself up from the couch (where there was an actual imprint of my arse) walk precariously to the toilet, pull down the girl’s leggings with one hand, help her onto the toilet, carefully take a seat on the stairs to wait for her to finish (oh yes, this one rules the roost in our house) only for the Dude to unlatch and join in with the heaving party. (He did a poo too – in case you didn’t get that.)
Obstacle three – Wrestling your Ninja Flippin’ Dude into a sleep suit.
When I reach the pearly gates, the first thing I am going to ask God is why oh why did he (or she) create press studs. Getting my son ready for bed is my cardio. Never have I faced such a difficult challenge in my years as a mother. My daughter would lay there cooing while I would quietly and peacefully dress her for bed. The Dude though, he pulls out clumps of my hair, pokes me in the eye, flips and races off into another room. He moves that fast, I have literally lost him on more than one occasion. When I do manage to pin him down (I have to put him in a leg lock), he fiercely kicks and flips and all that can be heard is me shouting up at the heavens: “God damn you press studs!”Obstacle four – Highchair Hijacking
The Dude (Mini-Houdini) can wrangle himself out of any high chair. Firstly, he leads you into a false sense of security by sitting quietly and eating your home made Hipp Organic Jar. Then, from out of no where, he is clambering on top of the table in an attempt to escape you, the food or both. Once again, a great exercise for your arms as you have to hold him in his chair, stop him from falling and feed him at the same time. This is also a great core exercise as usually, when I am preventing the boy from leaping from the table, I am stood with my stomach held in, anticipating his next move. The constant heart palpitations get the blood pumping nice around the body too.Obstacle Five – Getting ready for work and leaving the house on time.
This, for me, is my most difficult challenge – one that I haven’t quite mastered. Yes, I have probably burned a few calories, but no matter how hard I try, I cannot leave the bloody house on time. What makes this challenge particularly frustrating is that while I am dressing, straightening my hair, moaning at my Dulux Dog style fringe, putting my make up on in the dark, dressing the girl,
wrestling dressing the boy, packing the bags, eating breakfast and taking my medication for my underactive thyroid (a gift from birthing my second child), the Other Half is taking a half an hour long leisurely shower at the same time. This is an excellent work out for your legs, as kicking his arse on his way out of the house does wonders for toning your thighs.
And there it is: The Rough Mutha. I hope you’re better at it than me.