Pooh Mummy, you stink!

Is it natural that my younger children no longer want to kiss and hug me when I come in through the door? 

Instead of being greeted with joy and hugs, I get told, "Pooh Mummy, you stink!"  Admittedly, I am a tad...um...sweaty when I get home but as I am the main supplier of meals in our house you'd think they would be a little happier to see me.  It the looks on their faces that hurts the most....  As I advance towards them, red faced from exercising and very damp from perspiration, their faces changes from happy smiles and twist into expressions of disgust.  Their greetings are muted by an urgent desire not to inhale too deeply in my vicinity.

They look so adorable, hair all mused up with sleep and still in their jammies. " Hello, I haven't seen you yet this morning, would you like a cuddle?" I ask, all innocence.
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"No not really Mummy,"  they decline my generous offer, backing away in horror, all filial devotion has deserted them in the current circumstances.  "Why don't you go and have a shower?"  they suggest, "then we will give you a hug."

Oh, riiight!

It is when I decide to take their advice, I suddenly understand their position. I take a tentative sniff at myself and almost faint with shock. Pooh Mummy!  You really do stink.  This always comes as a bit of a surprise to me, every time I return from a training session.  I lived in the heat of Africa for years and NEVER produced the level stinky sweat in a whole day that I can work up in one hour in a hill sprint session or even on a hike.  I don't even want to hug myself!

I want to blame my kit.  I really do. These technical running tops don't half hang on to the pong.  I thought they were supposed to be breathable? Why don't they breathe away the smell?  I hold the offending article at arms length, between two fingers and lob it behind my bedroom door where all my dirty washing goes. There is stays, lying in its own toxic fug, until it miraculously disappears taken away to be dealt with by the washing fairy a.k.a. Ross. 

(By the way, Ross has, in desperation, taken to doing the washing because housework is somehow missing from my skill set. And since training started in earnest has completely slipped off my radar)

When I eventually emerge, sweet smelling and clothed in something suitably mummy shaped, my children suddenly become all affection and filial devotion. "What's for breakfast they ask?"  Apparently I am forgiven for my formerly anti-social scent but I know, it is only until the next time.... and that is what adventure racing does for you!

I fondly hug my children and remember that old adage I learnt at school, "horses sweat, men perspire and women glow."  Well, I must be incandescent.