VOL 3. - I AM NOT AN 'ACTIVEWEAR' MUM

I am not an ‘activewear’ mum.

If you see me running, grab your stuff and flee too because I’m being chased by a vampire or a debt collector.

However, now that FOUR has turned five, I really don’t have a need for the baby house that I still carry around or
the giant bottom that keeps me balanced. I also can’t use that excuse “I have JUST had a baby” – The kid is five.

I know exercise is not the whole thing and nutrition is key. Which basically means stop eating the kids chicken nuggets
and cold fries, and it certainly means I need to get a handle on my emotional eating. Husband asked me about
emotional eating the other day – a buzz phrase he heard on the radio – I explained that basically it means I eat my
feelings. He replied, “You must have a lot of feelings”.

Yep. I considered smothering him with a pillow or my ample bosom in his sleep. But he bought me a Cadbury
family block the next day as an apology, so I forgave him. Yes, yes, I see the cycle.

But back to exercising, I have started playing in a netball team. To be fair I mainly go for the comic relief, grown
up conversation (no lego, barbie or wiggles songs here!) and an occasional swear word.

However, this meant I needed appropriate activewear attire for said matches so off I went to Westfield. Spoilt for
choice about where to buy athletic clothes, I just went to the store closest to the entrance I parked at (insight into one’s
physical abilities right there!)

The staff were beautiful … like crazy beautiful. 

(I actually thought one of them was a mannequin.)

They couldn’t have been old enough to drive and had obviously left their boobs at home.

But regardless, I waddled my insecure self into the shop and looked lost. They asked me with more energy than I could
understand “Hey, how you going!?!” and I questioned why I didn’t drink two Red Bulls before entering this very loud store.

“Hi, I have 4 kids, and I really need to lose this weight, and I am playing netball now and I need some clothes to wear,
I don’t know if you have my size, I am not sure what would suit me, I don’t want to look silly…”

The catalogue models were like my very own cheer squad.

“Good on you for getting into sport.”

“We totally have the goods for you.”

“Hit the change room. We will bring you some options.”

Feeling good. They were kind. They understood the brief.

But it turns out, they did not understand the brief…

There were thin materials that cut off my circulation and looked as unhappy to be worn as I did wearing them. And
then …Then they offered me some grey tights. Do we even know why they make activewear in grey? I looked at
them and said two words. Vag. Sweat.

Finally, after trying on many, many, many pairs of tights, an almost cardiac arrest, two asthma attacks and an
assisted unravelling – no dignity in childbirth and trying on too tight tights it would seem. I found 2 pairs: a classic
firm black pair and a pretty pair with flowers. (The latter were 7/8ths in length, but I am what my husband calls compact,
so they are full length on me.)

They invited me to sign up for their loyalty program to which we all had a good laugh knowing I would never reach
frequent runners’ points or whatever it was that it came with and off I went.

I am now a sort of activewear-wearing, minivan-driving mum. I actually feel healthier just wearing them. And all and
all I am proud of the skin I’m in. My body is amazing. I grew tiny humans and shot them out of my lady parts, I have
stretched and grown and been a witness to this incredible miracle - got the stretch marks to prove it.

And I am happy! I am healthy! I love my jiggly bits and my collection of Bridget Jones shapewear. I also love that whilst,
I joke, these activewear stores do have “my size” and all the sizes - and so they should! So here I am, throwing on my
activewear and navigating the minivan and my mob.

*Side note, does anyone know how to get chocolate out of Lycra blend?