How did it come to this ?

I've always considered myself fit(ish), and while I know I am one of those people who has very intense periods of exercise - [i have been a gym junkie, running junkie and weight lifting junkie (through both pregnancies which, looking back, probably was pretty alarming for all those beefcake boys who would stare at me in horror)]- followed by lulls, I generally seemed to maintain it.  These days any form of formal exercise has been left in the 'no time for that' pile, and in terms of getting my 30 minutes a day I figured all the running around and picking crap up continually was good enough (physically at least, certainly not mentally). But Oh how WRONG I WAS !
Recently I was confronted with the extent to which I have: 
a) let it all go;
b) been deluding myself that I haven't let it all go; and,
c)  how much pain it is going to take to get it back.  

In a moment of spontaneity I threw little (not so light) Miss on the back of the push bike and set off for her circus class. I expected some tension in the thighs but the extent of lactic acid that flooded through my system 5 minutes into the big hill started to concern me - i tried to distract myself by adding up exactly how long it had been since i got on the bike - and as I added up the months it started to dawn on me that not only was I not going to make it to circus class on time - I wasn't going to make it at all, in fact.... I was going to be sick... and I was.  

The horror, the humiliation, the hilarity of my pathetic state lying on the kerb in a cold sweat, with my poor daughter - still strapped in the bike lying on her side - watching me with that blank expression my kids have when I am having a meltdown or generally in some crazy scenario. I lay there considering my options, which included calling a cab, or walking home, which eventually we did - slowly. 

The pain continued for the rest of the day and it took medication and 11 hours sleep to recover (physically), but the humiliation and fear remain, and I now face the daunting task of working out how and where I start. 

So if you see a lone figure walking briskly around 6163, or throwing up on the kerb - you'll know I'm doing my best.