Hormones: #jigglingjugs


It’s been a game of two halves this week, as these football pundits like to say. This blog was going to be about my breathtaking achievement of running over 4k without a break.

I’m so glad I didn’t boast about this glory as when I went back to the gym two days later, I crashed and burned. What the hell happened? I couldn’t do more than two or three minutes without stopping for a walk. I couldn’t get into any kind of rhythm or pace. How could I possibly go from running 25 minutes to not even running five minutes?

After 10 minutes of misery, I came off the treadmill and thought right, I’m obviously not feeling it today so I’ll just do weights instead. But I couldn’t settle doing weights as I was so annoyed with myself.

So I got back on the treadmill and managed another five pathetic, half-walking, half-jogging, half-limping minutes.

I stormed home in a temper and burst into tears with my husband, who was having a lie-in and thought we’d been burgled. I stood there covered in sweat and tears and snot raging about the randomness of running and the fact I’d gone back to square one. And my poor husband hugged me and said, “Bloody hell love, you’re talking like Jessica Ennis. Do you think you’re hormonal because you’re being irrationally hard on yourself?”

And it’s true, I was indeed hormonal. Instead of focusing on my major achievement earlier in the week, all I could do was beat myself up. Okay, it hadn’t been a great run but I’d still run and a few weeks ago, any kind of running was unimaginable.

I am truly my own worst enemy but I’ve learnt a good lesson that no one is judging me apart from myself. I need to be kinder to myself, I need to be my own cheerleader. Go girl go! Just make sure this rubbish running doesn’t happen again for another 28 days!

Love #jigglingjugs x


The Start: #jigglingjugs 

The Start (week one)

When I was a kid I used to run. I’d play British Bulldog endlessly, do laps on the school field in PE and sprint for the bus without a second thought. Then I turned 13 and grew boobs.

All of a sudden, running was like a scene from Carry On. Sports bras weren’t common in the 1980s and the flimsy underwear from Chelsea Girl really didn’t do the job. My teenage self-consciousness, coupled with a few jeers and leers from pubescent lads, stopped me in my tracks.

Since then, I’ve stuck to exercise where my curves can be covered and contained, such as swimming. I have several lovely friends who run but are so slim they’re like woodland nymphs gambolling gracefully in pink lyrca.

My Facebook timeline is full of Map My Run achievements, the Couch to 5k app is a constant conversation topic with other friends while Park Run and Percy Pud should be phrases in the New Oxford English Dictionary.

But none of this ever inspired me. In fact, if a mad axeman was chasing me I’d probably stand and give bare knuckle fighting a go rather than breaking into a trot.

Then two things happened. First of all, I bumped into Aimee at the gym and as I was studiously avoiding the treadmill, I casually mentioned my hatred of running. I joked about the danger of getting two black eyes and that I wasn’t built for jogging with my #jigglingjugs Aimee raised an eyebrow and in that wonderful lilting Middlesbrough accent said: “Give over. Get on the treadmill and stop making excuses girl.” Or words to that effect.

Then a couple of days later, I was talking to a male friend about jogging and he said: “Yes, I never saw you as the running type.” There was no malice behind his comment but it had a resounding effect. I stood there thinking: “Oooh, I’m allowed to say I don’t run, but I don’t want you thinking that of me.”

So I went to the gym and I ran. Now this wasn’t some Chariots of Fire moment, when I say “ran” I mean I jogged a bit, walked a bit, panted, went bright red and sweated all over my husband’s t-shirt which I’d worn to cover my figure. I managed 10 minutes, one minute walking and two minutes jogging. The evidence is below!

But the #jigglingjugs behaved themselves impeccably in my sports bra. No one laughed, commented or even glanced in my direction. The added bonus was I didn’t keel over and die either.

So that’s how it all began. Next time, I’ll fill you in on my progress, how I’ve acquired some fab cheerleaders and why I’m definitely getting a t-shirt saying: “I know my face is red….”

Love #JigglingJugs x