Friday, January 09, 2015

running happy

And breathe.

Thanks to all those who left words of encouragement and advice below, it really helped.
I also met up with a mummy friend of mine going through the same thing, and over oven-baked aubergine parmigiana, we cried and swapped notes.

Sebastian did his third day of settling in today and was much better. Apparently he ate all his food and helped himself to food on another's plate (now that's my boy), and he didn't cry the whole time. He isn't sleeping helluva well, or taking milk, but one baby step at a time.

My son's hook is the one where the mummy doesn't want to let him go, so is therefore in his picture.

I dropped off my dry cleaning in lieu of having a few clean coats for work, and sat reading a tabloid magazine under my duvet, all alone, in a quiet house for the first time in months.

I haven't done that since the final stages of my pregnancy. It's so strange to be in my house without my baby.

Reading about the shape of Jennifer Lawrence's thighs and seeing spreads of Kate Moss enjoying the shallows of St Barts made me think about the one thing that I am excited about next week.


That's right.

Dropping Sebby off for nursery full-time, going to work, being responsible for my inbox again, diving into an actual PROJECT makes me scared, not excited yet. I feel like the New Girl.

However. One thing that I have sorely missed while being heavily pregnant with twins, and then on maternity for 10 months, is actual real, sweaty exercise.

I took up running a few years ago, mainly because there is an impressive, free gym right on my floor at work, and it was a crime if I didn't actually use it. It is one of my better work perks; not using it is just stupid. 
I wanted to get into shape, but I also wanted to feel less depressed in winter. The dark, cold, mole-like life one leads in London during the winter months can break even the sunniest of spirits. When I ran, I felt better. I was nicer. I ran and did weights right up until I was 14 weeks pregnant, then stopped because I became a whale shortly thereafter.

And I have missed it like you would not believe.

Looking after Sebastian 24/7 has been so wonderful. The one thing missing was hardcore exercise, which I just didn't have the time (or energy even) to do. 

Now, I can schedule a gym session during my working day, and once I have my base level of fitness up, I'm splurging on a personal trainer to:
1) Help me get my gap back (if even at all possible)
2) Find my missing biceps

There's a good chance that I'll break the company treadmill under the sheer weight of my being and/or massive plodding steps as I learn what it's like to actually run again and/or by the amount of times I use it.

I plan to run a lot.

It'll be my thing. My time. Time to think. Release endorphins. Focus on me. Even if it's just 20 minutes a day to begin with.

I've updated my playlist with some, frankly, shocking 90s hard house, washed my gym gear and am ready.
Depending on how labour-intensive Monday is, my intention is to start then.

Even if this never gives me my body back (I have lost hope of it, I really believe that it has irreparably changed shape), it may give me my mind back.

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