Fitness first...

Or is it? Well, it’s never been for me. I’ve been peer pressured into many things over the years, but somehow, never this. At least not with any degree of consistency. I was talking to my friend SM about this the other night. She and I have loads in common. We share a lot of the same tastes and feed off each other for the things that inspire us. With one very notable exception. Yup, fitness. She’s a fitness junkie… and I’m… well… just a junkie – of couch, food and all manner of other fun vice.

So, recently, what a lifetime of experiences couldn’t do, a C-section has. It all started with me taking a long hard look at myself. What I saw did NOT make me happy. I live with my husband and sister both of whom are much too polite too tell me I look like dog poo when I do (bless their little cotton socks). So I pretty much have myself to look to. I felt like everything was wrong from my hair to my feet (no, really, I hadn’t coloured or cut in months, which meant bad shape with ugly greys poking through, and severe dry skin which I cant be a*sed to slather things onto). So, I made me a project plan. I can do this shit, I said, I’ve made near impossible projects happen before. For god’s sake, I worked with a dude who wouldn’t know a decision if it bit him on the bum and I still got stuff done, so I must be good enough to quit bitching and move on.

The plan, therefore, consists of me changing the things I’m not happy with over 6 to 8 months. Do it sensibly and slowly and, most importantly, successfully. Now some of it is easy isn’t it? Sitting in a chair while someone washes your hair or popping a vitamin pill or creaming your toes is just so much easier than sweating it out or trying not to be a pig! But I did start. Stuck to yoga while I was pregnant so I’d be in good shape to create that baby, so I sure as hell can do this.

So, this time, its Pilates. When I signed up they said its probably best because of the surgery to go to a pre and postal class and ease myself in. Weeellllll…. Turned out I was the only ‘postnatal’ (which really, I shouldn’t even qualify for nearly 8 months in) amongst various degrees of bumps. All of whom seemed to be having much less of an issue with the contortions than I was I might add (can I just say that these classes made the kind of yoga I was doing look like chilling by a pool?). Nope, what was even more insulting is the fact that the class was listed on the day as just ‘prenatal’; and as I walk in people smiled indulgently at me (oh, I know that look; its the awwwwww-how-far-along-are-you, can-I-touch-your-belly look. No one said anything, though sometimes I wish they would. Its absolutely divine how you get to tell them you’re not in fact making people, you’re just fat and then watch as they die, slowly, of embarrassment. ;) Love it.)

Possible future indignity notwithstanding, wish me luck people. I even went back for a second class (I was told I could graduate to a few ‘regular people’ classes so that’s where I’m going to be spending most of my Pilates time, lets be honest). Lets hope this lasts! And that I eat less of the 231-calorie milk chocolate/orange cookies. Which in my defense my friend NP only told me about AFTER I’d scarfed nearly 2 down! So that doesn’t count. Right? Right!