There’s something I find inherently insane about working out. Even more insane is paying someone the money you worked hard for, so they can make you do a whole bunch of exercises you don’t want to do/ too fat to do. I haven’t worked out in a gym since before I got pregnant; literally once I found out I was pregnant I got off the proverbial treadmill I was on and drove straight to KFC cause now I was eating for two.

There are five steps you go through when you’re getting ready to go back to working out after an extended period of time/ never;

First there’s denial; no you’re obviously imagining it, your gym tights are not so tight that your ankles have gone numb from the cuffs at the end. Also, yes, you may have just almost popped out your shoulder trying to get your sports bra over your head; but again, obviously your boobs have just gotten larger, not your back fat acting as a force field between the two ends of the bra.

Secondly there’s anger; you feel intense rage about why you stupidly agreed that it was time to stop eating 24 pack nuggies in your car and start running on a treadmill. Why did you fall for that crap about how ‘nothing tastes as good as skinny feels,’ when you know fully well that pizza, nuggets, KFC Krushers, Chicken and Cheese burgers, Wicked Wings, Spaghetti, cookies and cream everything, Donuts (alas I digress) all taste better than skinny feels.

Thirdly there’s bargaining; maybe if you start working out it’ll balance out all the maltesers you ate in one sitting. Maybe watching TV whilst sitting right on the edge of the sofa will count as squatting. Maybe, if you promise your personal trainer, the blood of your first born child, they will pretend you didn’t spend the whole session crying because they made you do a push up (on your knees) and the session can be over so you can go cry in the shower.

Fourthly is depression; this is probably the biggest step and if you can conquer this step you might have a chance of actually attending your first training session. This is the session where you start to think of ways to fake your own disappearance. The stage when suddenly your mum really needs you and that’s why you can’t leave your house or stop eating bad food. The stage where you realise that you will be putting yourself through self inflicted torture whilst the rest of Australia is sitting in front of the TV.

Finally is acceptance; the sun begins to shine on your face because finally, you realise how great it is that you are now working out again- new gym gear. IF I AM GOING TO SWEAT LIKE A SUCKER, I AM GOING TO LOOK LIKE A GLAMOUR! You cannot be caught dead wearing a pink shirt with purple tights and heaven forbid green sneakers. I need 5 pairs of Nikes cause duh, I’m gonna work out 5 days a week and I have to look fly. Besides what will the other Instagram mums think if I post up a picture of me squatting in an uncoordinated outfit?? #fit #fitspo #skinnymum #mumswhoworkout #doesmybuttlookbiginthis #bestwifebestmum #bumptobikini #blessed. True, you may end up just wearing said sneakers to eat brunch with your galpals and never actually lifting a single dumbbell, but I’m a true believer in the fact that its the thought that counts.

As I write this I have had two sessions already with my trainer and my third is tonight. I am dead. My arms-dead. My legs-dead. I have gone back to the pregnancy waddle because my knees don’t like when they are near each other right now. I’m only up to stage four, but stage two makes an appearance every time I have to do a burpee or a squat or lunge(or any form of exercise). I got paid yesterday though, so something tells me stage five is coming real soon! 😉

Dara

XOx