Blogging from Down Under

Archive for the month “September, 2014”

From Fat to Fit – Planning? Definitely not my strong point.

Since the birth of my baby girl I have been documenting my quest to get back to being ‘me’.

Not just to lose the baby weight that I gained but to get back to feeling fit and strong.

Back in July I posted  this post about the importance to me of having a goal to work towards, so I signed on for the Melbourne Half Marathon.

My first ever half marathon like, ever.

Back in July, October seemed like a looooong time away. I thought, yep, I’ve got this, I’m going to take this half marathon by the scruff of its neck and totally run with it. (Bad pun totally intended). I won’t let this race beat me.

Well yesterday this arrived . . . .



Yep, this thing is definitely happening! In 24 days this thing is definitely definitely  happening.

Holy Crap-a-mole.

Did I say it’s definitely happening? Well it totally is.

I have had a few ups and downs with my training and have had to see the physio quite a bit as I have been having problems with my knee which has slowed down my training. At this stage I would have liked to have been comfortably running a good 18k regularly but alas, I had to take it back quite a bit meaning that the longest run I have done is 17k – once.

Today actually.

And it most definitely wasn’t comfortable. My knee started playing up and as I write this I am in quite a lot of pain. Also my right glute muscle decided to down tools and seize up and stop working, meaning the pressure on my knee was even worse. Still I managed to complete a very very slow and, pretty uncomfortable towards the end, training run.

Planning however, is not my strong point. Let me explain.

You see I chose to attempt the longest run of my life today after completing a pretty hard core half hour spin class. I then chose to do the start of my training run with the pretty hard core running teacher who decided she needed to stay with me for the first 5k and pace me. Whiiiiiich was pretty unpleasant, given that her slow pace is my out of breath, stitch inducing fast pace.

Hard core running teacher then got to finish and go and have a nice coffee with the girls while I was left to continue for the next 12k alone but with strict instructions to maintain my out of breath, stitch inducing pace. (I didn’t – but don’t tell her!)

Add to this set of circumstances the small fact that husb had taken the car in for a service today meaning instead of a quick 5 minute drive home, I had to walk, but not just walk, no, I had to take the double pram and push the 3 and 1/2 year old and the 9 month old all the way home. That would be all the 5k home.

See what I mean? Planning clearly not one of my strengths.

So I am now sat on the sofa with a throbbing knee – properly, actually, pooing my pants about whether or not I can in fact do this race.

P.S Not ACTUALLY pooing my pants.

Except I am.

No really I’m not – the smell is totally the 9 month old.



A letter to my girl.

To my dearest darling beautiful baby girl,

I am writing this letter to you because; although you don’t know it, today is a very special day.

This day is significant, because today marks the day that you have been ‘out’ as long as you have been ‘in’.

Today my gorgeous, is your 9 month birthday.

You spent 9 months inside me, growing into a beautiful perfect, healthy little bundle of perfection until you were ready to pop out and meet your family.

During those months inside me, you were developing the very essence of who you are going to be and now that you have had the chance to grow outside the safe protective haven my body provided your little personality is beginning to shine through.

You know exactly what you want and exactly how to get it. You play me like a fiddle and I wouldnt have it any other way.

Very early on, you advised me pretty stearnly that the bottle was not for you. Not a chance were you going to drink from a plastic bottle EVER, when the other option was so much more comforting. At first I was frustrated but then I came to realise that you knew best, and as you feed from me your wide blue eyes look up at me telling me this way is so much better. ‘See mummy’ your eyes tell me as your quivering body calms at my breast, ‘this is all I wanted’, and as my body too relaxes and moulds with you your little hand grasps at my body to be yet closer still.

Your infectious giggle makes my heart soar with joy on the darkest of days. When I doubt myself. Am I good enough? Am I doing this right? One gummy smile from you as your head appears over the sofa cushion as you heave yourself to standing on wobbly legs; tells me I am doing a pretty good job.

Your first word is ‘mama’. Well, more specifically ‘mamamamamamama’.
You’ve been ‘talking’ for 3 weeks now. I could happily sit and just listen to you all day long. You are learning about the world around you so quickly.

I watch as you crawl around the house following your big brother around, wanting to be involved in his games, I smile to myself as I watch you attempt to clamber over the makeshift barricade the Bear has built to stop you eating his puzzle pieces.

You have no idea, no comprehension of the unbridled joy you brought me when you arrived and of the sheer gut wrenching, heart bursting, to the moon and beyond love I feel for my two precious gifts.

My beautiful, smiley gorgeous girl.
I love you.

The Bear – A week in the life.

Monday: Why is poo brown Mummy?

Tuesday: Why don’t you have a pouch for me to sleep in like the kangaroo Mummy?

Wednesday: Why can’t people walk on the microwave Mummy?
Me: The microwave?
Bear: yes the microwave, where the bridge is.
Me: The microwave, cooks our food.
Bear: no, no where the cars are
Me: do you mean the motorway?
Bear: yes Mummy, the microwave
Bear: why can’t people walk on the microwave Mummy?

Thursday: Can I eat my chalkboard Mummy?

Friday: I have a headache in my trousers Mummy.

Saturday: Where is England Mummy?
Bear: Is it in America Mummy?
Bear: Is it in Australia Mummy?
Bear: Mummy, is England in Melbourne?

Sunday: How did Florence get in your tummy Mummy?

Me: Ask your father.

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