I’m alive! I’m alive!
I managed to make it through an entire session of boxing without any embarassing toilet incidents, and consumed my breakfast an hour ago and haven’t yet seen it, so I think it’s safe to assume that I am now able to eat without the meal dropping straight back out the other end. Praise the lord. That was unpleasant, to say the least. Annoyingly, I seem to have come through it bloated and puffy, rather than the supermodel skinny that I was going for. I figured there was no way I could involuntarily purge at such a rate without there being some benefit.
So today I’m enjoying my last day of freedom before I embark on the longest two weeks of my life. This part of the fertility program is called the 2ww (two week wait). It’s the two weeks between fertilisation and pregnancy test. They suggest cutting right back on aerobic activity and heavy lifting, in order to increase the likelihood of implantation. So I’m guessing that kinda rules out kickboxing. And boxing. And pump class. And step class. Bloody hell. I’m going to be bouncing off the walls! (In a non-aerobic fashion, of course.)
I am going to have a beer at lunchtime in the hope that it’ll be my last for many months. I’m going to enjoy this weekend because we’re not painting. I’m going to spend it watching Shaun build our attic. I’m going to walk in the park as fast as I can without it being considered excessive aerobic activity.
I got a shock on Wednesday when my doctor told me that the hormones she was giving me are usually only required for people who over exercise. I tried to look innocent but I could see her looking at my biceps. There was no hiding those… I ended up smiling at her and saying that it was just as well that hormone existed then. She said that perhaps I was missing the point. She was wrong.
What I’m actually doing is ignoring it.