The day I ran the Amsterdam Marathon

Look at all the kids that stayed with their parents

Well, I actually didn't run the entire Marathon. To be honest, I only ran the last kilometer.

You see, my kids participated in the kids run last week during the marathon. They were so excited in days leading up to the race. Luca participated last year but this was Charly's first time. The plan was for them to run with their grandpa, an avid runner and I was to wait at the finish line, with a tea in one hand and waving a flag in the other. 

So we arrived at the Olympic Stadium and signed up for the race. My son suddenly decided that he would rather eat nails than run the race and my daughter begged me to run with her.

Jez, why did we even come? What happened to them running with their grandpa? First of all, I was still traumatised from the last time I ran in the Amsterdam Marathon. Just after Charly was born, I ran the 8K and ended up in 1,999th place out of like 2,005 runners.

No joke, I was dead last, and I am still haunted by the memories of that day. I can still see the 85 year old man speeding past me half way through the race. I remember seeing myself up on the big TV as I entered the stadium. Me, who just had a baby a year before, large and in charge, on a gigantic TV. In skin tight leggings! I looked like Humpty Dumpty in running pants.

So you can imagine my fright when my daughter demanded that I run with her.

But she wanted to run so badly and get a medal like her big brother. She had tears in her eyes begging me. I had no choice. 

Due to signing up late, we ended up at the back of the starting gate. Because of this, once the starting gun sounded off and we were only able to walk. I was thinking, this ain't so bad. I can handle this. 

Piece of cake.

Yep, until the crowd thinned, my daughter got balls and took off running ahead like she had fire in her pants. I couldn't even yell for her to stop. After a second, she disappeared in to the sea of hundreds of children (who by the way stayed with their parents). 

My son saw her take off, so off he went too. Leaving Mama in the dust. Which you wouldn't think would be a big deal, but I knew I had to catch them at the finish line before they wandered off lost in the crowd.

SHHHIIITTT! I had no choice. I had to run. No, I had to haul ass. I hadn't run in years and I was in no shape to be sprinting almost 1 kilometre. But I knew if I didn't that I would probably spend the next hour searching for my kids among thousands of people.

I sucked in my belly, tucked in my butt and took off. Of course, I wasn't prepared so I didn't wear a sports bra. So you can image the sight. Double D's flapping in the wind and I am huffing and puffing trying to desperately keep up with my kids.

My loyal kids who freaking abandon me! 

So I am finally nearing the finish, inside the stadium and I hear the announcer's voice echo throughout the stadium  "Mother of Charly please meet her at the finish". 

Nooooo, really? Was this really happening to me again? Shame at the finish line? Was this being broadcast on AT5? I was freaking out, I had to run past hundreds of people lining the track, watching me, a 40 year old mother jiggling her way to the finish of the Kiddie 1K.

You sometimes hear about people gaining super human powers when under immense pressure. Yep, that was me. I am not sure where the power came from, but I went from 0 to 100 in a second flat zooming across the finish.

Here I was "Charly's mother," gulping for air, on the verge of a heart attack and looking frantically for my kids. Of course, Charly was still with the announcer (little traitor) and Luca was wandering aimlessly at the edge of the crowd.

I gathered them and off we went to collect medals. We  found the person distributing them and without thinking I held out my hand for one too. The lady gave me a funny look and then did it dawn on me, I just ran in a kiddie race.

There is a new rule in our house, either you run by yourself or you don't run at all. 

Mama is just fat

Sometimes it just takes a simple conversation to change your life. At least for me it did. After years of struggling with my weight and trying to muster up the energy and self-esteem to become healthy, a simple conversation between my kids and their cousin changed my life.

It all started during pajama time. I asked my kids and their 5 year old cousin to get ready for bed. We were spending the weekend at our camper which has as much privacy as a stage at the Ziggo dome. I tried to do the old slip my shirt off under my nightgown trick while the kids had their backs turned. 

I guess not only parents have eyes in the back of their heads. Soon the conversation between the three turned from who was getting dressed faster to a convo about my body. And this is how it went:

Cousin: Charly, when is your mama's baby coming out?

Charly: No cousin, mama doesn't have a baby, she is just fat. She eats ALOT.

Luca: But mama is sporting now, she is doing yoga.

Ouch. Ouch for several reasons: my daughter sees me as fat and my son is taking up for me. I wanted to cry. I wanted roll up into my giant fat rolls and roll away. I was ashamed I didn't take better care of myself and I was ashamed my kids had these feelings. 

I think what upset me the most was that my son felt like he had to take up for me. He shouldn't have to take up for me, that was my job. At that moment, I think he felt the burden of my weight. He is only six years old, he should be worrying about his Lego Ninja warriors, not his mama.

This broke my heart. And I realized I needed to lift this burden from his shoulders. I want my kids to be proud of me.

After crying inside, I realized I wasn't proud of myself. I wasn't taking care of myself properly. I was just surviving. I was just trying to make it through a day without falling over on my face. It's not easy being a mother.

But that is no excuse, there are millions of healthy mothers. I want to set a good example for them and I realized I wasn't doing enough. My kids are my mirror and that conversation made me look into the mirror and see a unhealthy, tired mother. Not the mother I wanted to be. I don't want to be some skinny supermodel, or even skinny at all. Its much deeper.

Matter of fact, I have made it a point to never talk about dieting or promoting the supermodel body idea. Actually, I worked very hard to try to show my kids how much I loved my body, fat and all.

But you see, it didn't work. I couldn't fool them. I was only fooling myself. And it was time I stopped the lying and faced the truth.

I have to get healthy. I have to get to a point where my body is strong and healthy. Not skinny and necessarily lose a lot of weight. Just the dangerous belly fat, which oddly enough, is what the kids are fixated on. Maybe in some freaky subconscious way, they know how dangerous it can be.

So here I am, trying my hardest to become strong and healthy. It is not easy by any means but with one baby step at a time, I am getting there. I still feel the pitiful look my son gives me when my daughter criticizes my belly. And yes, my daughter likes to grab my belly and say "ewwww fat."

But I hold them both close, look into their eyes and tell them, "Mommy is on her way. Mommy is going to be healthy." And that one day my belly won't be flat and totally fat free but it will be healthy. And I will be proud!