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Mama’s a runner, Bitch.

Welcome to my new segment, timed perfectly as we kick into 2018.  I have named this series #mamasarunnerbitch because. I’m a mama. and now a runner. and bitch sounds bad ass.  Follow my journey to Fitness below, feel inspired, learn some helpful tips and hacks.

Disclaimer: Fitness blogging is very intense and requires great physique and demonstrative iphone holding skills, however I am not a qualified mother or fitness instructor, so please consult with your modern medicine distributor before attempting any of my regimes. Also, subscribe somewhere to something to hear more of me talk about myself in a manner that relates to me being better than you.

I’m running a half marathon. Guys, I have been Training, getting my cardio on. Got me some running shoes, only half a shoe size too small from trade me, got me a purple cellphone strap from the dollar shop for my upper arm. I just need a utility knife on my thigh and I am as sexy and svelte as Lara croft. If she was  35 years old, slightly overweight, with a bad knee and a burgeoning muffin top that keeps growing like the gift of Christmas past.  Actually, In all honesty, I can only liken this current state of mine to that of the murderous lesbo Charlize Theron played in Monster…but with better tits. Alas, give me time, Marathons weren’t run in 3 hours, I got this shit

I love getting ready for my training runs. I put my active gear on at around 8 am whilst getting ready for the school run. I look like I got me my shit together. I eat the bowl of overnight chia seed coconut concoction which needs half a bottle of honey to even be palatable, then I hit the school run looking like a mother fucking boss. I return home, eat half a packet of lemon creams because i’m hungry as fuck,  and an athlete needs carbs, modular coloring  and complex sucrose.

I then spend 30 mins searching for my purple velcro arm strap, then another 20 charging my phone. I then whack on my hard core gansta rap and hit the wild streets of Waikanae Beach. I do a solid 350 meters, at least 5 cars pass. I imagine the vehicles occupants admiring my commitment and stamina as they feel bad for themselves  clearly being so glutenous. I’m one of those blonde, tanned fitness mum’s now. I ain’t got no time for the plebs. I continue on, checking my running app, which clearly has a malfunctioning gps chip because i’m surely doing 2 km for every 200 metres this thing  is recording. I log out of the malfunctioning app  and focus on the scenery. I see some ducks. There is a green tree behind them. It is just so perfectly aesthetic I simply must stop and take 13 photos. I must also quickly upload them to Instagram in case an earthquake causes my phone to spontaneously combust and no evidence of this beauty is ever recorded.   I must hashtag #fridayrunswiththeseducks. Subtle, yet effective I think. I continue on, I spot old Gerald and his poodle Gemima. We talk for 25 mins. It is getting late, I must finish my run. Sadly, only 1 km after Gerald’s chat, I realize I have a creak in my knee, although it is not at all painful or inflamed, it could lead to an injury, and you cannot be too careful. I have no choice but to return home with s light limp and woeful eyes. Passers by clearly understand the anguish of an injured athlete.

My training schedule must halt until I am seen by a very abrupt and un-compassionate physiotherapist who declares me fit to ” continue to lightly jog on occasion”. And can now resume my training regime. I must put my back into it, as it is 10 days to my marathon  and my current 5k PB (that’s runners talk for personal bitch) is at 45 minutes. It is not pleasing to my coach/husband who is not in fact a human being and can run like an African in a cash heist.

Tune in for the next segment of my fitness journey as I attempt to run my half marathon with my size too small shoes, creaky knee, gyrating unrestrained deflated breasts and my purple neoprene strap. 



This post first appeared on Z Type Mom, please read the originial post: here

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