British Mummy Blogger of the Week

I. Can. Hardly. Move.

It's all my own fault, of course. I brought it entirely on myself. There's no-one else responsible for it. What did I do? Something almost criminally stupid.

I went for a run this morning.

Well, when I say, 'a run', maybe that's not entirely what happened. It's certainly what I envisaged when I woke at 8am (it's Sunday, hurrah!), and the sun was shining, the birds were tweeting, and Husband was still snoring. 'I know!' I thought. 'Why don't I capitalise on a week's hard skiing and give those highly toned muscles a work-out. Just so I don't lose the benefit, you know...'

So I creaked out of bed, gave the children their breakfast and squeezed into my sports kit, ignoring the inevitable comparisons between myself, a sausage and it's skin. I spent a good, oh, 5 minutes warming up, and then I set off.

I didn't have any lofty goals, you understand. Fully aware of the fact that it was 4 months since my last gym visit, I only planned to run around the edge of the compound - a 10 minute gentle jog, at most - before heading home.

Ha.

My excursion did last 10, minutes, that's true. But it was only around 2/3 of the way around the compound and was at least 40% walking (bear in mind here that this is a blog, and I am taking full opportunity of poetic license when I use the term 'run'. Stagger might be more appropriate). By the time I got home I was a wheezing, panting, sweaty mess who above all else was grateful for the fact that, this being the first Sunday of the Easter break, most of our neighbours were out of the country and therefore not witness to my humiliating tangle with the goddess Exercise.

And now, I can't really sit down.

Why would I do such a thing? I blame blogging. Specifically, in this instance, I blame this week's British Mummy Blogger of the Week. 1950's Housewife writes of herself:

'I have recently had an enforced year of housewife/motherhood thrust on me as we moved to the UK to Canada for my husband's fellowship. This blog is just a simple diary of how a working mum copes with being a SAHM.'

And my current situation is a direct result of reading - and identifying with - her post titled 'Are your friends making you fat?' Not that my friends are making me fat; not only are most of them 1500 miles away, but they most decidedly are not doing so. More with her reference to what her husband calls her 'winter coat'. I read that - and recognised myself. (Except of course, my winter coat stays on all year round... And after this morning, is likely to continue to do so.)

For the British Mummy Bloggers Ning, click here. (Note: It's called 'Mummy', but Dads can be members too).