I have been hopelessly glued to a certain kind of television show for the last year or two. I can't turn away from the competitive weight loss shows. It seems so unreal, so impossible that these people can drop upwards of a hundred pounds in three months. They show them in the gym, slogging away on treadmills or rolling giant mining truck tires (do they have these in regular gyms?), and they show them over and over eating horrible pre-contest meals. But they don't tell you exactly how they are eating for the show, and how many hours a day they have to be in those tire-flipping gyms. Every time I've ever had a conversation with anyone about them, we all generally agree that they spend easily four to six hours a day to make those transformations. And transform they do. I love watching their whole selves change, but I admit that sometimes the skinny faces freak me out a little bit. But I tune in every week, fascinated.
Now I'm not one of these people that have to be weighed on a freight scale, who end up on these shows, but the last four years of ill health have definitely left me with more girth than I care to carry around. So this past weekend, my friend and I devised a plan to mimic those shows. Today was day one of going absolutely insane at the gym. We met at nine, and didn't leave until nearly noon. Cardio, weight machines, free weights, calisthenics, stretches. And tomorrow morning it starts all over again. I had this crazy idea that tonight I would drive back up there to do water aerobics. Yeah, that did not happen. It was all I could do to feed myself today. And I fell asleep on the couch... Three times. I have to believe that it will get better quickly, because I won't last long if I'm barely able to take care of myself. Needing a personal trainer is one thing. But needing a nanny is beyond the pale.
Now it's time to go to bed early, so I can get up and do it all over again.
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