Who needs a gym...?

One of my friends posted a picture of herself on Facebook pushing her young children in a very large, very heavy looking double-buggy. The caption was "Who needs a gym when you have to push a double-buggy up that bloomin' hill?" And I've got to say, the very same thought occurred to me when I was spending yet another miserable (for me) morning in the park with my youngest son on the see-saw with me providing the power for it. As I'm pushing it down for the umpteenth time and he's laughing delightedly as he rises up in the air and shouts "More! More!" it suddenly occurred to me that people pay good money to do just this kind of exercise in a gym. Okay, okay - it doesn't rain in a gym. It's nice and cosy and warm, and you can watch Coronation Street while you make your arms hurt, so maybe being in a gym is a bit nicer, but you can't argue with the fact that doing the exact same exercise in a park is a lot cheaper.

Also, whenever I see those people running on a treadmill in a gym, I can never help but feel that it's a bit pointless running on one of those things. It's like all the pain, and none of the pleasure. And there's a lot of pleasure to be had from running out onto the moors or through the woods, particularly at this time of year.

Last week, in my blog, I asked the very same question. Who needs a gym when you can paint a ceiling (oh, yes, the house redecoration in readiness for its impending sale continues - so far I've painted nearly two and a half walls in the kitchen, plus the ceiling - okay, not great progress, but I have got two small children to look after). And there's no disputing the fact that the house move has definitely contributed to my overall fitness. I'm working all hours to get things packed up (we now have a moving date - and a removal firm - booked in for 3 weeks time!!!) and lugging boxes about to stow them out of the way until the big day. The stress has been good for my figure too. I've got to say that despite all the training up to this point, I haven't really lost any weight. In fact, if anything, I'm eating more (of the wrong stuff) because I feel like (a) I deserve it; and (b) - whenever I think about the swim - I need cheering up - so I'm still a bit flabby... but this week, the pounds have been dropping off me. I'm really feeling the stress and it's making me - shock! horror! lose my appetite. I can't wait for this move to be over so I can get it back again. As I said last week, if it wasn't for the training I'm doing, I would surely have been committed by now. It's a real relief to get out of the house and just run. In fact, if things get much worse, I might just keep going just so I don't have to come back and face it all: the half-white/half-blue kitchen, the mess, the boxes everywhere, the whingeing children telling me over and over that they don't want to move house... (We've moved on from patience, encouragement, admissions that Mummy and Daddy don't want to move either, but it will be lovely when we get there to saying "Well, we are doing." in a voice that belies the fact that the speaker is sick of being told the same thing over and over).

Anyway, with all of the above in view, I'm starting to look "athletic" as one person described me last week. "Athletic". Is this a good thing? I'm not sure. One thing's for certain, I've never been described as it before; so if nothing else, at least it's a novelty.

This week hasn't even been that good for the training either. A couple of weeks ago, for the first time ever, I managed to swim the entire mile in training. 32 lengths of Pond's Forge in 50m lanes. I cannot even begin to describe the last 100m. A new definition to the word "pain" sums it up. The lifeguard was hovering at the edge of her high stool. She was poised to jump in and get me, and it was only luck that mean't she didn't have to in the end. And I was slow. I mean really, slow. It took me 55 minutes to swim the distance. At this rate, I could swim the channel in just over a day (24 hours, I'm talking, not just daylight hours). This week, I only managed a paltry 24 lengths. In the first place, the pool was really, really busy. It was like the sea in there. There were groups of kids congregating at each end of the pool, rendering swimming a complete 50m an impossibility anyway. In the second, halfway through the session I had to get out because I needed a wee. (I am generally bursting for a wee halfway through the session - I don't really know how I'm going to manage the whole mile across Windermere without... well, weeing in the lake - and, sadly, the face of the person swimming behind me - let's hope they put me at the back or I'll just not have to have anything to drink for about 3 days before). Anyway, the stop for a toilet break was disasterous for the training and at 24 lengths, I gave up. I suppose swimming in the pool when it is like the sea should be good thing really. It will get me used to swimming in choppy waters. Windermere is most likely to be more like the sea than swimming in a nice, safely enclosed, pool, with both ladies and gents toilets close at hand.

Then all of the stuff I've got to do towards this move is cutting down the training time I have available, so that's hindering me a little too. It's a good job, really, that it's half-term this week and I've got both my children at home. If today was anything to go by (another freezing trip to the park, hoisting kids in and out of swings, propelling roundabouts and once, even, a rocking camel - don't ask) then it's going to be a right workout this week. As my friend says, when you have children, who needs a gym?