The whale is back

Yesterday was Malo's first month "birthday". I had to celebrate in style, so I decided it was the perfect timing to start sports again. Obviously, if I had had it my way, it would have been with an 8-mile run. Even a 5-mile would have kept me happy. But I had a cesarean only 4 weeks ago, and no abs whatsoever, so running did not feel like a very smart thing to do (how boring to have to be reasonable, but here you go).

Short of being able to run, I settled on swimming. Swimming, have you read? Yes. I know, surprising, coming from somebody who would not go close to a pool unless she was injured and unable to run. But things have changed. For a start, Martin called me The Whale throughout the nine months of pregnancy. First, it was "Little Whale", but from the 7th month onwards, I became a plain vanilla Whale. Somehow, it must have sunk in (I know, not the best pun ever, but I could not help it), and I discovered during pregnancy that, for my sins, I actually enjoyed swimming. Turned out that in the last four months before giving birth, I ended up doing more miles in the water than on firm ground... maybe something to do with the fact that I felt less like being the weight of a double-decker bus in the water.

In August, 2 days after Malo's birth, I got for my own birthday a voucher for a wetsuit (Martin's attempt at convincing me that I do want to do a triathlon next year). Being lucky enough to have been back at my pre-pregnancy weight for the last fortnight (and a bit below as some of my muscles seems to have mysteriously vanished over this past month without exercising), and therefore with no excuses not to try one of these utterly unflattering neoprene things, yesterday therefore saw me going shopping for a wetsuit. On a side note, running/triathlon stores are clearly not meant to get the custom of women still in the post-partum period: again, it did feel like we were trying to fit a double-decker (or a whale, your choice) in a match-box, only this time the double-decker-cum-whale was not me but little Malo and his baby-jogger.

By the end of the afternoon, I was the happy owner of a wetsuit of the inappropriately-named brand Aquaman, and we were by the Annecy Lake. I breastfed Malo while Martin went swimming, then it was my turn. I got my wetsuit from under the baby jogger (perfect to get people's attention), got changed and jumped in the water.

I quickly realised something was not quite right. Then I got it: I had lost my integrated airbag, and could not see my belly while swimming... weird feeling...

Swimming was blissful. Of course, that could have been because the water was warm. Or because pretty much the only sport I did for the past 4 weeks was carrying Malo, and walking him back and forth in the corridor to try and calm him down. and any form of physical activity would have felt like the perfect workout. But actually, there was more to it: altough if you ask, I will swear I have never said this, I think I have actually started really enjoying swimming over the past few months. That must be Martin and all his whale-talk acting as brain...-washing. Another bad pun intended.