Venturing out into public on an almost daily basis, and not just in my dodgy trackies pretending I’ve either just walked to school, just about to walk home, or giving the impression that I’m about to head to the gym or something (hey, I can’t help it if people jump to the wrong conclusion!), I have been mildly concerned about, well, lots of things.
Not least is my pelvic floor.
What if I sneeze whilst I’m on the train, in my lovely trousers (and not cow print pyjamas) and corporately looking top and lovely, lovely shoes?
What if I have a coughing fit? Or receive a funny text message from one of my besties, always very inappropriate, but likely to cause great mirth given my propensity to collapse into guffaws the more inappropriate things are?
Best not to think about other commuters with dodgy pelvic floors, though.
Thankfully, I have oft been aware of my pelvic floor, thanks to my time immersed in the fitness industry. Also, of more recent times, when I sneeze or think I can do two solid hours at Bounce.
I have always, quite subconsciously, looked for ways in which I can be active. Within reason, of course. I won’t say, accidentally do a Fun Run and not just because I find the entire concept an oxymoron.
I will, however, walk distances many others consider driving distance, and I will take opportunities to take stairs (two floors max) or walk or dance on the desks in the office when the opportunities arise.
Being required to be away from the home office for quite a considerable number of hours at the moment, I am also missing my scheduled opportunities for physical activity.
So I do the best I can with what I have, and prioritise the bits that need to be prioritised. My pelvic floor is one such bit so I have made it my mission to include its strengthening, and that of my ‘core’, whilst I tram or train into, and away from, the external office.
I merely stand in the middle of the public transport mode of choice, and allow my muscles to do what they do in order to stabilise me and prevent me from falling arse over tit down the aisles.
The fact that said public transport vehicles is often packed, sardine-like, due to the last three trains being cancelled means I am often pushed into the centre of the vehicle, whether I like it or not. My vast height of five foot two inches means I am incapable of reaching the hanger-on thingies attached to the roof and I have no option but to utilise my core stabilisers to prevent the falling anywhere.
The alternative is to, somewhat remarkably, find a seat, and spend the journey with someone’s left testicle placed firmly up your right nostril, thus causing all manner of issues with sneezing, coughing or laughing. Possibly because it is somewhat difficult to read your text messages over the top of someone’s crotch.
Thus rendering all concerns about one’s pelvic floor pointless.