“Treat yourself to some me-time,” they said…
My time with Becca is 100%, unashamedly for me, and there’s something really powerful in blocking out that space every week to look after myself.
Hiring a personal trainer wasn’t something I ever thought I’d do. But, until I became a mum, there was something I didn’t realise:
A tired woman covered in Petits Filous will pull some strange shit.
So while I don’t know quite why I suddenly emailed a personal trainer to book a session, what I do know is this:
- It was a really big deal for me
- I felt slightly sick once I hit send
OK, more than slightly.
Wanting to be more than mum
I had my little girl when I was 30. With her came a whacking great dose of post-natal depression.
I did everything to look after her, and nothing to look after myself. Nearly three years later, I was tired, pissed off and really, really unhappy in my body.
I loved being a mum. What I didn’t love was the fact that, somewhere along the line, I’d stopped being anything but mum.
Life was moving in ever-decreasing circles: baby groups, library sessions, supermarket trips, naps in the car.
And right there at the centre of it all was me: overweight, depressed, and almost always slumped in baggy, yoghurt-covered leggings.
Facebook: finally good for something
I found This Mum Can on Facebook.
I’d joined a group for our local area and, in a sudden burst of motivation (I’d had more coffee than usual), I typed up a thread asking members to recommend a personal trainer in south Manchester.
Before I hit enter, I went back and rejigged my post: I wanted a female PT who knew about motherhood and all the never-ending, yoghurt-slinging shit challenges that came with it.
The first poster recommended Becca.
Then the next one.
Then the next.
Either she was really good, or she’d got a lot of fake Facebook accounts. Either way, she seemed like a good choice.
I booked a session.
The Mouth from the South arrives…
Becca turned up at my house with a number of terrifying things: a step, weights, a mat, and a look on her face that said, “You’re about to exercise.”
She’s very expressive.
We started at what I now realise was a super gentle pace, baby-stepping into HIIT (high intensity interval training) with plenty of gaps between sets so I could lie face-down on my patio and wonder why I was doing this to myself.
And we got through it. I got through it.
Becca was really motivating, and my shame at being so unfit didn’t seem to faze her – as she put it, there were only three rules:
1) Don’t faint
2) Don’t puke
3) Don’t die
The way she figured, if I worked hard enough to hate it, I wouldn’t do it again.
Again! Again!
I did it again.
I signed up for another five sessions. Then another 10. And we’re still going.
The exercises have got harder, the weights have got heavier, the gaps between sets have got shorter.
And me?
I’ve got stronger. I’ve got more toned. I’ve taken up running and smashed the targets I set for myself. I’ve ugly cried after getting off the treadmill because I was proud, and I’ve never been proud of my body.
Now, my little girl plays in the garden and joins in while Mummy and “Auntie Becca” work out. And when I’ve had to take breaks for illness or to recover from some surgery, I’ve wanted to get back to it.
I’ve never wanted to work out before.
Hiring a PT has been one of the best things I’ve ever done.
My time with Becca is 100%, unashamedly for me, and there’s something really powerful in blocking out that space every week to look after myself.
Working out has taught me that I want to be strong, not skinny. It’s shown me that I can actually stick to things that I find tough rather than throwing the towel in (or at Becca).
And it’s taught me to look after my sizeable bum with lots and lots of squats, because who wants a pancake ass anyway?
I’m pretty sure I’ll keep This Mum Can Fitness around. I’ve got more goals and a long way to go before I’ll feel as fit as I want to be, but I really feel like I’m on the right track.
This mum can. This mum did.
Lorrie’s a Manchester copywriter – http://lorriehartshorn.com. When she’s not being tortured by Becca, she spends her time sitting on her fabulous, squat-enhanced bootay and writing website content for her lovely clients.