Working Out

Oh exercise, my old friend. It’s been so long. I’ve just put together a running playlist, including

I’m all hyped up and ready to squeeze my big wobbly bum into my running leggings of last year. But, I have some questions…
1) Will it come to 7am, Bubs in bed, The Kiwi home, dinner plans a-go-go, and I be tempted to crack open the vino and veg on the couch rather than hoppety-skippeting up the road?
2) How on earth will I strap my gargantuan bazoongas down while I run? Last year my boobs were incy-wincy and I could flatten them down to pancake proportions with a runners top. What now? Gaffer tape?
3) Will I run around the block once, get halfway through the first song, then give up and never venture out in my trainers no never, no more?

Last year I was still yoga’ing at this point, until the big realisation. At my next Hatha class I told the teacher, who mentioned the ‘M’ word again. I was SO shocked. She said that this was the riskiest time for pregnancy, and concluded with ‘I am neither a pre-natal yoga teacher, or a mother, so I cannot tell you what to do here.’ Obvu, I left the class and slagged her off all day. But I was also well too scared to carry on exercising, and what will all the pre-eclampsia m’larkey, I haven’t done much in the way of working out since then.