My weekly appointment with the Bitch in the bathroom was banjaxed slightly this week given that I wasn’t here. I have to admit, in the past my Asshole voice would have immediately latched onto the fact that there was going to be a longer-than-normal interval between weigh-ins, and positioned it as a reason why I should take my foot off the gas, you know? Cut myself a bit of slack…I’m happy to report that this time I was having none of it.
I weighed myself a day early on Saturday, and I’d lost one pound. This morning I went for the pincer movement and got weighed again and I’m delighted to report that another of the little blighters has melted away at some point over the weekend, so despite the treats I’ve allowed myself, the balanced approach of earning the right to indulge and managing it within my food plan has paid off. I need to be a bit careful, I mean come on, I’m in danger of behaving like I’m actually the one in charge here. Oh…wait a minute…that’s right, I am 🙂
I was thinking you know, that I should probably try and get a couple of gym sessions in this week whilst I’m off work. I’m still a long way from being fit, and my Cuba Trek is now only 5 months away. That’s twenty weeks…sweet Jesus that’s hurtling towards me like a freight train. I know I have the elliptical here at home and I’m walking a fair bit, but I’m starting to realise that it’s not enough. In fact, it’s nowhere near enough.
When I was in the gym at the hotel yesterday, I wouldn’t exactly say I was pacing myself against the proper people who looked like they belonged there but I couldn’t help comparing their pace to mine, and it dawned on me that in fitness terms I’m still more of a sloth than a cheetah. And whilst I know I don’t necessarily need to be a cheetah to conquer that mountain range, I do need some of the key ingredients that I’m missing, like stamina and strength.
I have neither. Which is kind of a flaw in my plan, right? In comparison to where I was, I’m a rock star. And mentally, I’ve got it all going on, but in terms of being where I need to be physically, I’m barely off the blocks.
I think this has got to be my reality check. The gravitas of what I’ve committed to has finally made it as far as ringing the bell in my head. Over five days I need to trek 90km of rough terrain, in heat and humidity, and as of right now I still weigh 257lbs. What the actual fuck have I done.
I’m going to have to join a gym aren’t I? I’m looking at it every which way up, and without a proper plan – and someone to push me – there’s no way I’m pulling this off. And there’s no way I’m backing out either, so much as I hate the idea and God knows how I’m going to find time, I think I’m going to have to. It’s time to dig in and start really fucking hurting. I need a Jillian or a Bob in my life. Someone who’s going to make me throw up in a bucket without allowing me break my stride on the treadmill.
To be honest, the very thought of it terrifies me, in fact it makes me want to bungee jump into a river of cheese balls and stay there until the world goes dark. My hamstring is still sore from doing the splits five weeks ago, my knee still hurts a bit and whilst I can walk for maybe five miles or so before I need a breather, that’s an awfully long way from match-fit. However. The responsibility of being the one in charge of me means I’ve got to do what I’ve got to do. The longer term benefits outweigh the fact that in the short term I just about want to shit my pants at the thought. I just need to man up and go for it.
Rightio. Best find a gym then.