As I’m sure you’re all aware, I’ve been working out at the gym for some months now. Getting fit, losing the post-baby muffin top/love handles/cellulite/how-did-a-baby-fit-in-there left over pudge. The first thing I do at the gym is run. After dropping the kids off at the creche. Of course. The free creche. Yes, I know, that is super awesome.
I used to hate running. With quite a passion. Possibly because I looked ridiculous. My arms seemed to flap involuntarily kind of like a rabid chicken chasing a farmer with a meat cleaver. Poor Hannah, she has managed to inherit my poor running skills. Her flap is even more apparent then mine. Or possibly I hated running because it was hard. And boring. And I sucked at it. Sigh.
Pounding concrete whilst thinking about nothing and looking at sidewalk crack after sidewalk crack, all the while feeling like my lungs are going to burst and my legs are going to fall off, and getting a rash from my I-probably-should-have-shaved them thighs rubbing together? Ick. Hated it. I hated it.
I started running 2 years ago when I nearly died of excitement about the Amazing Race Australia. They were taking applications and by-golly, I was going to apply (and I did. You can watch my application video here. And yes, it does include a shot of the ridiculous running).
But then Aaron told me that if I actually managed to get on the show (I didn’t. Sigh), I’d have to run. A lot. And if I wasn’t good at running, I probably wouldn’t win.
And so my running regimen started. Er…not so much of a regimen as a once a week half killing myself to run 1 kilometer in like 20 minutes session.
That went on for a whole couple of months and then I stopped because I got pregnant and running was just way too hard.
Anyway…. I wasn’t planning on running at the gym. I was going to use that funny cross trainer, or elliptical machine (is that the same thing?) until I found out that the treadmill tells you how fast you’re going, your pace, and how many kilometres you’ve done. Now, I’m pretty competitive, so I decided to try to beat myself. I keep track of how many km’s I run in 15 minutes every time I go to the gym, and then I input it all into Runkeeper. Not to mention, I won’t be retarded at running when I next apply for the Amazing Race (which I will).
When I started, I was doing a kilometer in about 8 and a half minutes. Each week, I try to better my pace. I set new goals. I push myself.
A couple weeks ago, I was pushing myself. I was 13 minutes in to a 15 minute run at a pace of 5 minutes and 27 seconds per kilometer (for the whole run, not just at that particular moment. In case you were wondering…). My fastest run ever. I was nearly there. I was going to make it. I was so excited.
I felt a little drip. Just a little.
I kept running. I was getting closer to 15 minutes. Closer to my best run.
Another drip. Maybe I was imagining things? Maybe it was just one little drop that was kind of hovering there, deceiving me.
I kept running.
Another drip. And another. And another.
I was starting to feel a bit wet.
But I kept running. I thought about stopping, but I really wanted to get to 15 minutes and complete my fastest run.
I kept dripping. I tried with all my might to hold it in, but I just couldn’t.
I wonder if you can see a wet patch. Can the people behind me see it?
I wasn’t sure. I kinda thought they could. Or maybe I was just imagining the drippy feeling. Either way, I kept running.
I looked at the timer on the treadmill.
I pushed the stop button and ran, then jogged, then walked until the treadmill came to a stop. As my legs came together and stopped moving, I knew. Without a doubt, I had leaked. Sigh.
For two entire minutes, I leaked, partially wetting myself as I ran.
Sweat pouring out of my armpits, face, and probably my butt-crack, I stepped off the treadmill, not knowing how big and visible the wet patch was.
Normally I do squats, lunges, 4 minutes on the grinder, sit ups, seated row, 2 minutes on the rowing machine, and then stretches.
I couldn’t do all of that. Not without knowing if there was a giant wet patch across my butt, a walking advertisement for all to see that I have a wee little problem.
I sat on the floor in the stretching area in a half-splits, stretching position. As I leaned forward, giving the illusion of stretching as I went, I had a sneaky little look at my crotch.
Staring right back at me was a decently sized pee-smelling wet patch.
As quick as humanly possible, I put my legs back together straight in front of me and stretched. I wanted to appear normal to anyone who may have caught a glimpse of my crotch spot. Like it was just sweat and no big deal or something. If I ran straight out of there, crying from embarrassment as I went, everyone would know that I half wet myself on the treadmill.
But if I continued stretching, without exposing my soiled crotch area to the world, then sauntered to the exit all nonchalantly, maybe no one would know. Or maybe everyone would be quietly pointing to me whilst muttering “oh. my. gosh. Did you see that girl? She wet herself on the treadmill!” to their friends as I walked out.
Whatever, I went with the casually strolling out option. Except I tied my coat around my waist. Nothing says “accidentally wet myself on the treadmill” like a coat tied around the waist.
I guess after having kids, you can’t be lax about kegels. I haven’t done them in a while. I thought I was fixed.
Time to bust out the kegel exerciser again. Sigh.
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Copyright 2012 Sheri Thomson