We have entered the wedding season. Our mantelpiece has been strewn with invitations for months, gifts have been bought, accommodation booked, outfits scrambled together and now we begin the weekends of

I love a wedding, I want to cry the minute I sit down, you cannot help but get caught up in the electric emotion of the day, feeling the nervous tension in the room as the groom squirms in his seat awaiting the first sight of his future wife. I remember that moment of walking up the aisle so well. It hadn’t really dawned on me that all these people would be in the church and  my bridesmaids have never forgotten the look I gave them as I realised that this is it!

Over the past few years I have often thought of that moment and all our lovely friends who gathered to celebrate our wedding. When times are tough (and they are, I may be married to a saint, but I am still quite high maintenance!) I think of the vows we made to each other and the promises we made in front of all our friends. They believe in us and we can draw on them for support and love whenever we need them. When I am tired, fed up or just plain bored of the endless round of chores I let my mind wander back to that blissful day, when I married my best friend in front of all our best friends.

An early waking baby has started to leave me feeling really drained, days have become weeks that I am up before 5am. We have tried every bit of advice to get him to sleep later, but nothing works and I have succumbed to the fact that’s its us, not him, that has to change our body clocks in order for our lives to work in tandem.

There is so much information out there and as more and more of my friends have babies you see everyone go through the same realisation- first few weeks of bliss as baby sleeps for most of the time, just waking to feed or stare nonsensically at a visiting face. Then WHAM the baby wakes up and suddenly evenings become a screaming match and days blur into a milky reality. Slowly you and the baby swing into a routine, whatever works for you, works (in my opinion). It doesn’t matter what you do as long as you always do the same….as the months go on I am realising more and more that all babies really require is stability and predictability just like us.

I have struggled with this stability over the past few months as my life is repeatably thrown off kilter. And it doesn’t seem acceptable to say out loud that actually life with a baby is exhausting! Bring back ironman training and full time work any day….this is never ending! The cleaning, the wiping, the washing, the cuddling, the playing, the demands are 24/7 there are no rest days or easy days for this athlete! You have got to be on full time race peak all day till that blissful evening moment when you shut the nursery door and switch the kettle on (or pop the cork!) and sit down…..oh no wait the washing machine needs unpacking!

Trying to fit in any serious training is not that tricky with such early get ups and light evenings, but I just cant cope with the exhaustion a long session brings to my day and I don’t feel its fair to not be in great shape to look after my baby. Without quality sleep the muscle repair and rest just isn’t happening and as I saw in the last few weeks I end up going into deep exhaustion with nothing really to show for my efforts apart from crankiness and tears!

So while we are going through this phase I have cut down my training to let my body cope with the demands a very active 10 month old is placing on it. To most the amount I am still doing would seem a lot, but getting out of the mindset of ironman training is tough where if you are not doing at least two sessions a day its hardly worth talking about!

All of this is so new to me, being an athlete has meant being selfish for the past few years and people (notably my husband) fitting in with me and my schedule. Suddenly the tables have turned and I am fitting in with someones else schedule. I am learning to do this and am enjoying seeing how much he is flourishing with this care and security. I realise it really doesn’t matter whether I can smash out a 5km in record time or fit into my size 10 jeans, but what matters is our little family is happy and healthy in our own little training schedule where everyday is a race and everyday is a prize.

One of the best parts of becoming a mother has been the change in my relationship with my mum. We have always been close and apart from a regrettable incident with a bottle of Archers and the school disco we have never had more than a few tense words between us. She helped me plan my wedding to perfection, so much so we nicknamed her ‘J-Lo’ and through these actions I began to realise how much her daughters meant to her. Now as I am taking my first tentative steps into motherhood I have this new found respect for her. I never realised how hard being a mother was. Never realised the endless drudgery, chores, sleepless nights, manic days and she had 3! What makes me so proud is I never realised…she never complained, never moaned. All I remember of my young childhood is many blissful days in the garden, endless rounds of meals and endless games with my beloved sisters. I know both my parents were very busy, but Mum was always there in the background to pick up the pieces when we fell and to tuck us in at night.

I love you Mooms x

My body, my machine, my engine and now my baby carrier and nurturer. Its been put through the mill the last five years. Firstly with four years of full on triathlon training plus full time working and then pregnancy, birth and breast feeding. It has stood up and answered every demand I have placed on it and yet I feel I am only just winning this love hate battle I have been fighting with all my life. I am beginning to feel at peace with what I have been given and to let the bonds and unrealistic expectations of modern society slip away.

My body has always been strong and powerful, it seems to have never ending powers of endurance. It’s never suffered a major injury despite training repetitively week on week out. When asked in a big race, its always performed and apart from falling apart in the closing stages of the World Champs in Kona, physically it got me to the finish line, though I left any coherent thoughts out on the Queen K!  Most importantly, it grew, protected, nourished my baby and then delivered it (with a little help!) safely into the world. And only now, am I able to look in the mirror and accept and be happy with what I have been given.

I am sure other Mums feel the same way. Life is suddenly not about you, in fact you are very low in the pecking order. That reliance on you by another or others makes you realise that body shape is really not worth worrying about. Time is so precious and seems to be going so quickly and I want to enjoy every last minute!

I saw the most brilliant thing in the park yesterday. Four boys in their 20s playing football with jumpers for goalposts; two little lads, cant be more than 8 years old came up to them and asked if they could join in. Without batting an eyelid they said, ‘of course, you go on one team, you on the other,’ and off they went. I watched them for a bit, all completely immersed in the game. There was no talk of rules, offside, fouls, they were just all playing for the love of it. I don’t think they even knew each others names. The PE teacher in me was delighted! This is what sport should be like, we put too many rules, restrictions and expectations on young people to perform and achieve, when really all they want to do is play.

Lots of people, in jest (of course I take it quite personally!) have said, what am I going to be like on the sideline when watching my son play sport or even worst, what if he doesn’t like sport?! (well that is hardly going to happen!) The truth is, though I am freakishly competitive myself, I have seen the products of one too many pushy parents. I have fielded the phone calls on Monday at 8am asking why I haven’t followed up on the e mail sent last night sent at 10pm demanding Fifibell be put back into the U12A netball team. These children are nearly always mortified by their parents behaviour.

Those children that do achieve and continue to achieve throughout their life are nearly always the ones whose parents support, but in the background. They are there to cheer the victories, but also to pick up the pieces in defeat. They understand the role of sport and its importance in their children’s life, but they create a balance where personal or team achievement is celebrated rather than winning.

And so this week I have set myself a number of personal challenges, no competition with anyone else (though I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE ‘chicking’ guys while I am running with a pram!), just me, myself and my baby.

For those who know…getting to this post hurt a lot!

Do 1 double figure run

So now without races all my energy really is focused on being the best Mum I can be. I am learning not to take it personally when he wont sleep, wont eat, just wants/needs to have a good yell, when pulling everything out of the cupboard is all he wants to do (again and again) or being carried around is the only thing that will settle him. I am learning this doesn’t mean I am a failure or not winning, but its all part of our learning curve. Watching him this week now rocket round the flat, pulling himself up, cruising round the furniture, I know it wont be long till he is one of those little boys asking to play football in the park, and you know what? I cant wait!

For the first time yesterday post baby, I had to get up and go to work in a suit, on a train. I left the baby crying for me as I shut the door and it broke my heart. How do people do this everyday? I am sure it gets easier and you settle into a new routine. I had to tell myself strongly, not to express my adult emotions onto my baby, but I was torn up inside with this innate desire to rush back inside and hold him to me, never letting go. I felt sick as I boarded the train, glancing around, waiting for someone to accuse me for being a terrible mother and hearing his distressed cries alongside my rapid heart beat. Of course, women have to do this everyday, and for this I have a new found respect, doing the job is the easy bit, leaving the baby is the real challenge.

More and more I am now having to face up to people who ask ‘when’ am I going back to work? Normally there is an uncomfortable silence, which I fill with reasons… blah blah, oh I’m doing this, I’m doing that, we are getting by etc etc. All empty excuses and in my head I am shouting at myself-tell the truth! I cannot bear to leave the baby with someone else, in someone elses care. I don’t actually  think I am strong enough to go back to work. Funny for someone who all their life has competed, trained, worked their body to the limit that this little person has weakened every resolve I ever had!

It does seem that I have lost part of my identity now that I am unemployed. Am I of any value to anyone apart from my family now? Will I lose the ability to communicate with others; by taking my foot off the treadmill of employment will I be left forever wiping the floor and putting on the washing machine? !

But then, do you know what I did today? I went for a run with my baby (ha my legs were tired from standing in heels all day yesterday!). After we sat in the sun and shared breakfast, listened to the trees rustling and the skylarks singing overheard. I realised that everyday with my baby feels like I put together another part of our jigsaw. We put the pieces around each other (getting them in the wrong place, more than the right), but when they fit, they fit beautifully.  I just know taking some time out is right and one day when I see the whole picture my son and I have created I will know every precious minute of this time together was worthwhile.

Its hard when you have been up since 5am with a teething sad baby to get your butt out of the door for a run. I try and think of every reason in the book not to go. Come on you are tired, go back to sleep (fat chance, I often give hubby an extra lie in, but if baby gets the faintest sniff that mum might still be in the house and better still in bed he is onto me like a shot!) or better still just stare into space with a cup of tea.

But I know if I go out now I will feel better, I don’t like to run with the pram more than four times a week. I know my running action shortens, my knees get sore and well sometimes its just so nice to be out and by myself.

So I headed out this morning, cranky in my head and in my heart. I didn’t want to spend another day with the whiner, I was tired.  Put the trainers on, out the door, don’t think about stiff legs, hungry tummy or itchy eyes. Just get the legs moving, get the blood pumping and the lungs working. In moments like this there is only one place to go. The river. The Thames, the artery of London. In and out it ebbs and flows all day, my constant companion, always different, but always the same.

Standing on the banks, hands on my hips, I take deep breaths, I am not running hard enough to be out of breath (I hate running hard in the morning), but it feels so good to fill my lungs with almost fresh air, savour the almost silence of 6am, feel my shoulders relax, my back straighten and my head lift.

My feet turn for home, lighter, faster and stronger. The pavements are filling with grey suits heading to the bus, as I run in the opposite direction, back to my work, which I love with my whole being.

As my life has changed in so many ways over the past year, one thing has remained constant and that has been my friends and family. Having a baby turns your world upside down, no one can prepare you for the huge range of emotions you go through daily or the exhaustion you feel day in day out. Not working, means you lose that network of friends you have inbuilt at work, daily ‘hellos’ become a lifeline as you realise its 3pm and the postman is the first other adult human you have seen all day. And that’s when your little support group of friends comes into its own. Some are new, some are old, some were forgotten, but all hold a dear place in your heart as they provide a vital lifeline to the outside world and the person you used to be!

I really struggled in the first few months with terrible loneliness, we have just moved back to London, I wasn’t training and could hardly walk to the shops with battered abdominals. No one told me that babies never stop crying. I had lost my network of training friends and without the routine of school timetables, training sessions and goals I felt lost.

Then I was invited to some postnatal sessions. Jumped at the chance, cant remember anything about the class, but here I met 6 other women who have become dear friends.  I would never have met these women in my ‘former’ life, but they have proved to be my life, my therapy and my support network through the tumultuous first few months! I know some of them will be friends for life.

Training friends have come and gone, those working towards big goals are understandably single mindedly training, I look back and think was I like this? Must have been and for that I apologise! Some-mainly those with kids themselves-totally understand what its like to be at home days on end and one in particular has gone above and beyond to meet for a quick coffee or take the baby for a walk so I can have a smash fest run. I have felt almost tearfully grateful at this simple act of generosity.

Finally my husband and family have proved to be invaluable. Hubby is my absolute rock, supported me through everything, from the labour, the terrible pain of initial breastfeeding and then kicking my wobbly butt out the door to get in shape again! Every morning he asks would I like to go for a run and rushes home at night so I can get out or so he can cook dinner. I know how lucky I am and how little I show my appreciation. Your relationship complete changes with your loved one once the baby arrives. Life is no longer about us, its about him, what he wants, what he needs, but he has brought us closer together-we’ve laughed, cried and clung to each other as we stumble our way to become the parents we so want to be.

There has been some dismay this week as we bid farewell to the black panther who is off to pastures new. I have been umming and ahhing for weeks, no months, about my sporting future, what to do.

My sport, triathlon has taught me patience, its taught me dedication, motivation, to dig deeper than I ever thought possible. It has shown me what you can achieve if you put your mind to something and believe.

I love the multi sport element, the challenge of always improving, the millions of options of training sessions and the fact that after five years I still cant b*****y swim!! I have met some of my best friends through the sport,  had some of the biggest highs and biggest lows. Dodgy tan lines, chaffing in places a girl shouldn’t have chaffing and buckets of sweat have gone into my love of this sport, not to mention thousands of pounds and a very unfortunate bus drive back from Ironman Austria which involved my then not husband and his shorts!! Recently I have felt too guilty that a great lump of carbon is sitting in our hallway not being used, when it could be funding my sons enormous appetite and being ridden by another aspiring athlete.

And so the black panther, who taught me everything I know about cycling  is off to a new home.
She has been such a companion these past 4 years, what a journey we have been on.

And with the money I have brought her replacement……christened black panther 2….

And so where does that leave me now…..to be honest, I am just not motivated to compete at the moment. I know if I said to husband I wanted to compete again he would support me, but I just feel its not the right time. These early few months have been so precious as our little family have settled into its new rhythms and the relief of not worrying about a race or missed training has been immense.

Out running most mornings with my pram I get one of two looks from other mums already out and about.

There are only ever two looks and they go like this:

1. You are MAD, what the HELL are you doing, WHY would you be out running at this time in the morning, you TERRIBLE mother!
or
2. GOOD on you, you go CRAZY woman!

I always smile, a little on the outside, a lot on the inside. I love my running time with baby. He has already been up for a couple of hours and is ready for a nap. I settle him in and he happily watches the world whizz by. Bang on 1 mile he is asleep and I am free! I know I have about 40-50minutes to get some exercise in before he wakes, I put on my ipod, turn up the volume and go for it. Sometimes its fast, sometimes its slow, sometimes I stop and just listen to the birds and enjoy as much peace as a park in London can offer. As we head home, baby normally awakes and asks how my session went (OK, he doesn’t actually ask, but I tell him) and then we are done. The rest of the day is free to completely devote to baby. I feel refreshed, energised and so much better about myself and my job as a mum.

And that is the beauty of running. Whatever doctors, trainer manufacturers, physios like to tell us, we are meant to move our bodies. It is part of our natural flight or fight defence. It is what makes us feel alive and powerful. It is like anything in life worth having, hard work at the start, but so worth the effort.

And when two runners pass each other nearly always there is an acknowledgement, a nod, a grimace or a smile, more often than not a brief hello. We are part of a secret club, there are millions of members, we are an easy to please bunch, anyone is welcome, you only need a pair of trainers. Come on join in!