Tag Archives: swimming

The Gallery – dad you rock!

15 Jun

Da da, You are so much fun. You make me laugh lots. Sometimes you tickle me too much. You are so much more fun than ma ma, who sometimes gets worried we are having too much fun and I’ll get hurt. I love being chased in circles by you. I love jumping in the swimming pool in your arms. I love it when you wrestle with me and throw me in the air. I love the sandpit you built me. I love falling asleep in your arms. You are the best da da. Lots of love, Toby x

How, when and where I found out I was pregnant

20 May

Celebrating Mums is doing a linky-up to share stories about the ‘reality of motherhood’. This is the first (I think) and its looks at how mums found out they were ‘up the duff’.

My story is simple. I wasn’t trying, nor was I even considering trying. I was on the pill and putting in at least 12 hours of running, swimming and cycling a week for a half ironman (mid-distance Triathlon). I was putting so much strain on my body I should have been pretty much incapable of conceiving, even without the pill.

The weekend before I realised, I completed the Tour of Wessex sportive (a very long and hilly road bike race). On the last day, I threw up on my handlebars. I put this down to either overdoing it, or consuming one to many energy gels. That evening, my body felt very odd. I put this down to the cycling. The thought that I was pregnant hadn’t even entered my mind.

The next few days were pretty normal. I went to work, but felt knackered and wanted to ingest copious amounts of full-fat coke. Very odd for me as I generally hate coke, but I put both the fatigue and the craving down to the miles I’d spent in the saddle and carried on as normal.

On the Thursday of that week, I headed to the changing rooms at work to kit myself up for a run home. When I stood up I caught sight of myself in the mirror and overnight I’d turned into Katie Price – without going under the knife. My flat chest has been on the receiving end of jokes from my friends. One birthday I was even made a breast cake to make up for my lack thereof. At that moment there was a very loud pop and the idea I may be pregnant entered my head.

Panic and fear started pulsing through my body. Regardless, I pushed the thought to the back of my mind and began my run home. Of course, trying to forget something like this is impossible and with every strike of my foot on the pavement, my heart beat faster – and not because of the running. My body turned to wibbly jelly and I could think of nothing else than how awful it would be if I really was.

En route, I picked up a pregnancy test. When I got home, I ran up to my bathroom and did the deed. 1 second, 2 second, 3 second…. The wait took an eternity, but when it was over, I faced the biggest fear of my life – a positive result. Deep breaths, it was one test. I had two more and this one has got to be wrong. I went to the kitchen and began knocking back the pints (of water) like a woman possessed. Thank goodness my housemates weren’t around.

Second test – positive, must be wrong. Third test – positive. I must have brought a dud pack. I threw my trainers back on and ran down to the shop and brought two more packs. Back home, more water and four more tests. I spent a small fortune on pregnancy tests that day and the result remained defiant. I was pregnant.

I sat on my bed and began to process the news. Thoughts of all the training I’d been doing ran through my head. It would be wasted. What about work – how would I tell my manager? I couldn’t possibly tell my dad I was pregnant – I was too young (I wasn’t, I was 29). How could I tell Tom?

None of my feelings were positive, but after a week, Tom and I had both decided we’d probably end up moving in together and having kids anyway, so why not now. Over the previous months, we’d become very close and had begun planning some time out from work for some travelling. I’d been spending more and more time at his house and, while moving in together was incredibly daunting, it only meant a few more nights a week there.

Since the week I found out, I’ve not looked back. Having Toby was the best thing I’ve ever done. Motherhood is hard work, but the rewards, love and happiness it brings to your life are endless.

Getting fit after pregnancy – no more excuses

16 May

Final running race at six months pregnant

When I fell pregnant with Toby, I was super-keen on triathlon and in training for a Half Ironman. My weeks consisted of working, eating, sleeping, cycling, running and swimming and that was all there was to my life for a bit. I’d eat like a pig that had been starved for a year and it didn’t make a blind bit of difference to my weight.

Now, it must be said, this routine was at my most extreme and was in preparation for a half ironman. On the final few weekends before I found out I was pregnant, I completed the Tour of Wessex cycle, had a rather traumatic King of the Downs cycle experience and took part in the Duncton cycle ride. After throwing up on my handle bars, I realised that either I was overdoing it, or something wasn’t quite right. I was pregnant.

I started my pregnancy with the attitude that I could still exercise to the extreme, that I wouldn’t put on weight and that I could maintain my fitness. As the weeks and months passed, I realised my view was hugely unrealistic. I was in bed by 7.30pm some nights, could barely move by the end and as for getting up early for a spinning class – FORGET IT. Needless to say, the weight closed in on me and my fitness left.

All my crazy exercising ended just under two years ago and since then I find myself making excuses for not getting back into it. The problem is, I’m starting from scratch. During my pregnancy my stomach muscles split, which left me with a stark warning from the physio to let things heal before I start running again. I tried to get back into it after a while, but (and I can’t believe I am going to say this) I ended up wetting myself – I’m certainly not the first and I won’t be the last, but that just puts a girl off. The breastfeeding, especially at night, left me exhausted and finding the motivation to get up and get back into a fitness routine was beyond impossible.

Last summer, when Toby was around 4 months, I got on my bike each week and did a few rides. We spent the summer in our VW Campervan driving around France and I got the chance to do some amazing cycling. I climbed 2/3 of Mont Ventoux, but had to turn around to get back for Toby’s breastfeed… well, that was my excuse. This is the first time I am admitting to this; the real reason I turned around was because it was just too painful. I was a lot heavier than before and I simply couldn’t get to the top. I was weak! I did, however, make it at a snail’s pace up Alp D’Huez. At the top, I remembered why I loved cycling. BUT ON EACH OCCASION I FELT HORRID. I just didn’t have the fitness to enjoy it and with a baby you can make excuses.

Last week the excuses ended. Toby is now 15 months, my body has recovered from labour and he’s sleeping okay (ish). I’m now working from home and there is time. No more crap excuses. I have a buggy I can both run and cycle with and I live next door to Richmond Park.

I’ve thrown myself in at the deep end with the cycling. Yesterday – with a little help from my friends – I cycled 60 miles in the Duncton sportive. I was slow and it hurt, but it’s meant to hurt and I’ll get faster. Next week I’m signed up to the King of the Downs bike ride, which should be interesting. It’ll be slow and it’ll hurt and there will be times I will doubt my post-pregnancy self. The week after we’re heading to the Tour of Wessex for a 76 mile ride. I have legitimate doubts about finishing this one, but nothing ventured, nothing gained and I can’t keep hiding behind a wall of nappies. Wish me luck.