I must admit, I am a huge fan of instagram. I follow a lot of women who work out and post pictures of their perfectly formed butts, svelte arms, and gorgeously manicured nails.
I am guilty of posting my own range of- albeit less glamourous- ‘gym selfies’ because I feel proud of the progress I have made in the last year, and to be quite honest am a certified oversharer.
Now, I am not complaining per se about my body, hell I have birthed 3 solid and gorgeous humans from my rather unassuming 5 foot 3 frame. To be honest, I am pretty happy with how things have, ahem, held together… it’s just that sometimes I succumb (like all of us do occasionally, to body-part-envy.
From time to time I am reminded that I am not the owner of a 20 year old body, but infact a mother of 3 and all that that encompasses…
Now, it’s not what you think; I have mastered the art of the inconspicuous pelvic floor workout, much thanks to the horror stories told to me by other mums in the delicate post postpartum days (“I bent over to pick up a sack of potatoes and my entire uterus fell out. Just fell… RIGHT OUT.” ) Yeah, stories like that will have you clenching those puppies real good and regular like.
It’s that due to losing a fair amount of body fat percentage, I also lost a fair amount of ‘cleavage’ percentage.
Gym gear just seems to highlight this fact. Instead of an eye full of voluptuous squashed bosom, I am sporting what looks to be the ears of a cocker spaniel. This is most fully evident when performing prone leg curls, or whilst reaching down to lift the bar. It’s a damn shame really.
But I am healthy, and that is more important. *cries for the breasts of yesteryear*
I have been talking to friends about the times their bodies have let them down at the gym, and really, it’s rather amusing.
It seems The Strain Fart rates up there with the worst of them. Nothing like the moment you go to do a bench press and all that protein infused gas finds its way out. Loudly.
Or when you brave that time of the month and head to the gym and spend the entire set of bar squats praying that you don’t pop your moon cup. (I beg you not to google that).
Or when you train your daughter too hard on arm day and she vomits (guilty).
It’s all just part of being a fully fledged member of the gym.
I once spent 3 minutes trying to locate the bum pocket on my tights to put my ipod in, whilst on the treadmill, only to come to the swift realisation that I had infact put my tights on inside out, and the pocket was flapping behind me. A friend of mine said she did the same thing, but just thought ‘bugger it, I’m halfway through” and owned it. The same friend also fell off a swiss ball the other day in front of the entire New Zealand Cricket Team. These are good times. Good times.
At the end of the day, I am proud of myself, and my friends for carrying on, gas, moon cups or otherwise. Life wouldn’t be as entertaining if we all had perfect gym bodies.