A Day in an Average Dad's Fitness

Hi!
This is my first time posting here like this, and I'm not sure anyone will read this, but I did a blog post on my half-forgotten blog (as well as several others) with an amusing twist. To be honest, this could be for mums as well, it's just some of the stuff that's personally happened to me. Have a read, I've put the link at the end for the original post.


2.30AM

The horror begins. The little one comes into our bedroom and forces themselves between us, sticking their backside out enough that I have to move across the bed until I’m hanging onto the edge of the bed, the bedside cabinet, even the wall opposite. I felt like that scene in Spider-man 2 when he was trying to stop the train.

3.15AM

She’s still awake, and fidgeting like hell. “Downstairs, Daddy. Let’s go downstairs.” With eyes that can barely stay open without cartoon matchsticks (mine not hers), she drags me downstairs, a stubborn refusal to sleep in her own damn bed. On goes Netflix and some fairies, and on goes the kettle for daddy’s super-strong bucket of coffee.

4.15AM

She’s dozed off on the sofa, and the coffee is kicking in, my leg bouncing up and down like a jackhammer. Time to get *kitten* done. Kind of. A quick change from pyjamas to “workout clothes” AKA yesterday’s t-shirt and shorts.

4.30AM

Barbell set up, weights locked on, giant cup of water ready to go, pillows on chairs to soften the noise from the heavy bench press.

The other one is awake….

“Daddy, I can’t sleep either.”

(Insert muttered swearing and oaths of fealty to the dark gods).

“Okay, come on downstairs.”

This one tucks herself in on the sofa as well, demanding biscuits and milk, and crisps. I can hear movement upstairs, and I check the time and it’s….

6AM

Where the hell did that go?!

Lunchboxes have got to be done, and drinks and uniforms sorted. Barbell and weight plates are packed away again.

6.30-8.30AM

The madness that is breakfast, and getting children dressed for school whilst battling the time like wading through the damn surf. Screaming and tired whining, and complaining, and we’re off on the school run! A quick read of the latest fitness magazine before the walk from the car to the school. Or more likely swipe through Instagram, and struggle to keep the eyelids open.

“Daddy, can we go now?”

9AM

Kids are at school, even the big ones, wife is home and kettle is on. The littlest is with me, and it’s off to the supermarket.

“I want that one, daddy.”

Crisps go into the trolley, as well as chocolate yoghurts, and several members of staff depending on how tired I am, and if I’m paying attention to what I’m actually taking off the shelves. In a desperate attempt to get around the shop quickly, and to avoid being arrested, we nimbly dodge around the older people doddering about. The screaming daughter, demanding everything and getting nothing, is now covering up daddy’s swearing and cursing at everyone getting in the way.

11.30AM

Take the wife back to work, and get home to prepare for the day’s workout. This day is compound day, the Golden Five, so a good strength workout. Hell yeah. Get a buzz just thinking about it. Then I remember there’s a three-year-old girl there with me.

“Daddy, what’s that?” as I pull the barbell out.

“Daddy, what’s that?” as the spring collars come out.

“Daddy, what’s that?” as I slap the weight plates on the bar.

12.00AM

Start with the Deadlifts, good and easy, nicely done. “Daddy, what you doin’?” “Exercising,” I grunt as I hit the end of the second set. “Daddy, what you doin’?” “Still exercising.” “Have you finished yet, Daddy?”

Bench presses next. Quite possibly the worst exercise to do with an inquisitive daughter. As I lie on the floor, about to grab the heavy barbell, she decides this is the time to fling herself on me. “Daddy’s trying to exercise!” I’m sure she’s trying to smother me.

“Exercise then Daddy.”

“I’m trying dammit!”

“Come on Daddy!”

(Insert muttered oaths and curses under my breath).

Into the third set of bench presses, and she decides to lie on the floor next to me, directly under the hovering barbell and my shaking arms.

“Out of the way, or you’re gonna get crushed.” What seems like at least half an hour, and some more swearing, and she finally listens, although I’m fairly certain it’s because Paw Patrol has distracted her.

Bench presses done, onto the overhead presses, which in my house means kneeling otherwise that barbell is going through the ceiling.

“What you doin’, Daddy?”

She stands in front of me, the barbell above my head, my toes cramping.

“Ex…er….cis….ing…”

The imminent danger is beyond her.

“Ffffffffffffffff…….” The arms start shaking, and the barbell begins to drop. Oblivious, she wonders off to play with a unicorn. Breathing heavily and shaking from the near miss I wonder if the gods are laughing at me.

I manage to get through the rest without incident, until the very last add-on exercise. The planks!

As I get into the plank position and my timer starts, she tucks herself in underneath me, and I start sweating profusely. My muscles shake and argue as I try to keep myself from squashing my little daughter, all the while she’s finding it absolutely hilarious.

The timer stops, and I throw myself to the side.

That’s one way to force my body into the correct plank form.

1.00PM

Workout done, and it’s time for the post-workout protein shake, which happens to be chocolate. “Can I have chocolate milk, Daddy?”

“It’s not milk.”

“But I want one.”

“It’s… not…. Milk…”

She takes a deep breath

Seconds later, she is indeed drinking chocolate milk (albeit Nesquik mixed with almond milk since she has a dairy intolerance).

Lunch is served, which pretty much amounts to crisps for her, and a protein-filled chicken sandwich (with a LOT of chicken in).

3.00PM

School run, more arguing, more running around. Home and get dinner on, pasta for the kids and chicken and salad for me.

6.00PM

Bath time, screaming and shouting and the bathroom turns into Kevin Costner’s Waterworld, whilst daddy watches the latest Buff Dudes or Lean Machines videos on YouTube.

7.00PM

Bed time for the young ones.

9.00PM

I emerge from the little ones’ room, they’ve finally fallen asleep, after much arguing and refusal to go to bed. “I’m not tired, Daddy,” they tell me through yawns and drowsy conversation.

10.00PM

Bed for me. Wife is amused that I can barely keep my eyes open.

Good night everyone.

1.00AM

“Daddy, need a wee-wee.”