The perils of postnatal exercise: Part IV

Everything hurts.

From my hairy toes up to my double chin, my body is on fire (and not in a sexy way).

So, for those of you who are new here, I will elaborate. Five weeks ago, in a fit of I’m so fat I need to lose my baby bulge desperation, I signed up to Bootcamp. And instantly regretted it. But I’d already parted with my money and, because the (self proclaimed) Northern Love Machine made a bet that I wouldn’t stick it, I’ve carried on.

And boy was that a mistake.

Tonight consisted of running around a room, stopping, and then running again. We also practiced a new form of torture called The Plank. Yes, it is as scary as it sounds. And we did terrifying exercises with weights. Not to mention the press-ups and tricep dips. Oh, and the running. Did I tell you about the running?

That was my downfall. I hate running. I hate it even more after tonight. After last week’s flatulent car thief episode, I was aiming to keep a low profile. But the running put paid to that.

It was when we started to jog that I felt a pain in my boob. That was when I realised that in my haste to breastfeed the baby, put her to bed and get out of the door on time, I’d forgotten to do up my milk bra. (I believe the correct term is “nursing” bra, but you get the idea).

Before you question why I wasn’t wearing a sports bra, I will tell you: I don’t have one. Nor does any half sane person I know. Who actually has underwear specifically for sporting activities? Really? And anyway, aren’t milk bras pretty similar? They’re massive and particularly unflattering.

Clearly not. As milk bras undo like this:

So, imagine a woman running around a room, with one full breast lolling about in front of her, clearly visible through her thin T’shirt. Then imagine said woman galloping around in a circle of fifteen others, facing inwards, trying to discreetly tuck the stray lolloping breast away without drawing too much attention to herself or flashing to the entire circle.

Yep, it’s impossible. I am now a hairy toed, pants-wetting, flatulent car thief with a penchant for flashing one full breast at anyone unlucky enough to be looking.

Watch out Katie Price, that’s all I’ll say on the matter.