A wee problem at the gym

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.

Jillian Michaels – 30 Day Shred

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.

Oh crap.

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.

15:00.

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.

Crap.

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.

Kegel exerciser GyneFlex with VTP (R) – Regular Strength

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What happens when YOU jump rope?

“Here’s the personal massager you ordered.” the dirty old delivery man said.

Oh my gosh, WHAT!?!?!?!  “I did NOT order a personal massager!” I practically yelled at him.

Sorry about the messy writing...still have to do everything with my left hand

“You’re Sheri ____?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t order any personal massager!”

“And feminine moisturiser.” He read off the customs declaration on the package.

I gave him a weird look.

Of course it probably didn’t help that I was dripping wet with only a pink towel around myself.  It was 6 days before Christmas and we were waiting on a big package full of all our Christmas presents that we ordered from the states.  I wasn’t about to miss the arrival of that package.

I was in the middle of my morning shower when I heard the knock on the door. Sure I could have let him leave a note and then picked it up at the post office.  But I have 2 kids.  And 2 hands. That leaves no hands for carrying the package from the post office to the car.  Did I mention that the post office is on the busiest street in my town?

So I jumped out of that shower like a drowned rat on the scent of cheese and excitedly ran for my front door, glad that the Christmas package was actually arriving before Christmas.

“Well, enjoy your surprise package then.”  Yeah thanks old man.

I looked at the package in my hands wondering who the heck would send me a “personal massager.”

“Kegel exerciser. Feminine Moisturiser.” The customs declaration said. Oh…It was just some products to review on my blog. So why was the dirty old delivery man telling me it was a personal massager?  And even if it was, no one would ever, EVER want the delivery man to say it out loud.

I jumped at the chance to review a pelvic floor exerciser for Intimina.  We all know how child birth weakens the pelvic floor.  I couldn’t even jump rope without a little pee coming out.  I wrote a blog post about it. So embarrassing!  Add another birth and I was in serious need of some pelvic floor help.

Kegel exercisers

I have to say I was a little intimidated by the fact that I had to actually put something…er...in there.  I still have memories of my over zealous use of the epi-no when I was pregnant with Hannah.  Long story short, I over inflated it (it’s supposed to stretch you out a bit so you don’t tear giving birth), and it made me bleed. Ick.

When I finally tried out the little pink kegel exerciser, it was fine.  It didn’t hurt, and once in place, I didn’t even notice it.

The Laselle Kegel Exercisers work by “providing a solid object for you to flex around for more effective strengthening.” The weighted ball inside causes vibrations that prompt your pelvic floor to contract and relax.  I couldn’t find anywhere on their website or the packaging how long you’re supposed to use them each day, so I just went about my chores with it for about 20 minutes, with some flex and holding.

An email from Intima let me know that it’s like any other exercise; you start with a few reps and a small amount of time and then increase to suit your needs.

All I know is: I can jump up and down (I can’t really jump rope, my arm is still in a cast…), and no pee comes out.  Kegel Exercisers: $15.95AUD. Jumping without soiling my underpants: priceless.

To buy in the U.S. click here

To buy in Australia click here

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Do more kegels

I love boxing class at the gym.  I tried Zumba, but we all know how that turned out….  No, I’m too special for Zumba.  We do something different each week at boxing class.  Each week I leave feeling like I want to curl up in a ball and sleep for a few days.  We do circuits, intervals, weights, pretty much anything that gets your heart rate up (in between the actual boxing of course).

This week, they busted out the jump ropes.  I can’t remember how long it’s been since I’ve jump roped, but it’s definitely been a very long time.  When I was little, I did Jump rope for Heart, and occasionally, we’d do double dutch jump roping at recess in grade school.  Yeah, long time indeed.  I was kind of excited when the instructor came in with the jump ropes.  Awesome, I’ve got this.

I was handed a jump rope and told to jump for one minute.  The rope was far too big for me.  I held out my arms like I was trying to measure something long so that I wouldn’t trip over the ginormous rope.

I took my first jump.  Oh.  My.  Goodness.  Was that?  Did I just…?

I jumped again.  A look of horror spread across my face.  The instructor looked at me oddly.  I pretended to get my feet all caught in the ridiculously large rope to pass time, jumping as little as I could.  I couldn’t just stand there, looking like a fool.  I jumped again.

Oh crap. I kept jumping.  With every jump, it kept happening.  I constantly (on purpose) got my feet tangled in the rope.  I kept jumping.  With every jump, a couple drops of pee came out.  I tried to hold it with all my might.  I kept jumping.  I kept leaking.  I put my legs together as far as I possibly could, desperately trying to gain the much needed control of my rogue bladder.

“Ok, stop!”  The instructor told us.

“I’ll be right back, I really have to pee!”  More funny looks.  Just behind me, another girl was running out too.  We ran to the bathroom, emptied our bladders, and went back to class.

“At least you have an excuse,” the girl around my age said “I’ve never had a baby!”

“Sorry, seems I need to do more Kegels.”  Yeah, I actually did announce this to the entire class.  Why not?

Time to jump again.  What???  How can this be happening again????  I JUST went to the bathroom! I spent most of the jump rope time pretending my feet were tangled in the rope with each jump.  Plausible of course, since I’m fun-sized and the ropes are giant sized.

Lesson learned:  do more kegels.