Bit later than I’d planned to write this, but yes, I went running on Wednesday after the disastrous attempt last week. It went well, my legs are killing me, and I didn’t throw up-this counts as definite exercise success! I’m even going back next week.
Yesterday, I tried to go running. I used to go once or twice a week, with friends or a running for very slow not very sporty people club where I used to live-never liked it much, or got into that zone that proper runners talk about, but I managed about 30-40 minutes a couple of times a week, which seemed like reasonably good exercise for someone who otherwise sits very still most of the time. As I feel quite wobbly post baby, and also tired and lazy, I contacted a local beginners running club run from a sports centre a couple of miles away, they emailed back, sounded nice so I thought I’d give it a go (I very much need other people to make me run. It really doesn’t come naturally, so if I’m not being told to do it, I just walk instead, defying the point).
I was expecting quite a hectic evening, but I managed to get ready (joggers, sports bra, long thermal top, short sleeved T-shirt, trainers-I really was ready), get the baby into bed, cook tea and say hello to DH, then go outside. And when I got outside, it was snowing. So I went back in, grabbed a hat and gloves, then ran upstairs for a fleece (don’t judge me, it really was cold). Then back downstairs, into the car and off, to get stuck in traffic almost immediately. Made it to the sports centre a minute before the group were meant to leave, and there were no parking spaces. Not one, I took a while checking. Someone else had parked badly by the exit, on a curved bit of the road, so I tried to sneak in front of them (also badly) and then got beeped at long and loudly by the eight boys all driving Citroen Saxos who had clearly just finished football, and were trying to leave while I tried to bring my car into the kerb a bit closer so they could get out. And that was the point where I thought-I have actually really tried. And I don’t want to leave my car sticking out in the middle of the road, everyone will hate me, and when I get inside, all the runners will have gone anyway. So I went home instead, and watched Africa and ate two chocolate biscuits, then had a lovely bath. I rang my very sporty sister (I was actually looking forward to going, and she wanted to know how it was) and confessed, and she was nice to me and said it did sound like I had given it my best shot (she probably then got off the phone and said ‘She couldn’t be arsed to go to her running club’ to her DH, but I don’t care). I did try, and next week I will be even more organised, and leave the house fifteen minutes earlier to allow for traffic and getting a space. I will go running, I need to do this. Tonight, I’m going for a swim with a friend, but next Wednesday, it’s running. Shout at me if I don’t go!
I meant to write this last week, when it actually was a month since I returned to work, but I was so knackered I just went to bed instead. Sorry about that. Everyone told me I’d be tired, and in my head I went ‘I’m tired now, why would that stop when I’m back at work?’ but no, it’s actually worse! Because even when I haven’t had much sleep, I have to put on grown up clothes and blowdry my hair and sit in meetings with a notebook saying things like ‘What KPIs are you putting in place to keep the team on track?’ (not really, I’d poke myself in the eye if I ever sounded like that. But I do say work stuff, whereas maternity leave was very much about reading Peepo on repeat all week and saying ‘Oh dear, you bumped yourself, shall Mummy have a look?’ very calmly while inwardly panicking and thinking ‘please Lord, don’t let that be actual blood coming out of your still very small head.’)
So, how is it going? I feel very settled and like being back in my old chair, which survived a furniture cull which took all the other chairs just like it away and replaced them with terrible new ergonomic ones. I like having an income again, and a commute all by myself (CD of the week-Les Mis, as I’ve finally seen the film and am OBSESSED) and I like having a lunch break and seeing my work friends and being able to make phone calls in hours of daylight without having it take three times as long due to a wailey baby shutting his fingers in a drawer/trying to suck electrical cables/finding the recycling pile and wanting to eat or roll in it. I love how jolly the baby is when he sees his key workers every morning, and how delighted he is when I pick him up in the evenings. I’d rather not be asleep by half eight most evenings, and one week in particular felt like it was never going to end, but I’m getting there. And I feel more myself again, and I like that very much. Some things are helping (packing the car with everything I need for the next day in the evening, early nights, more takeaways than we’d usually have, the joy that is realising I have a handy Ella’s Kitchen pouch in the cupboard when I’ve forgotten to defrost something for the baby’s lunch) and some things not helping so much (having a cold, the baby teething, my husband starting a new job further away and getting home much later). We’re getting there, and I think it’s going to be just fine.