I knew getting back into my weight loss routine after weeks of complete slackerness was going to suck. I knew it. I think that's why I kept putting it off time and time again.
But this week I really took stock in what I liked about working out and honestly- knowing that kicking my own ass was getting me into shape and frankly, looking better than I had in years, was a good thing. Then I noticed that the hunk of fat that hung off the side of my thighs was gone... really made me think about how nice it was to be losing hunks of fat in the first place. And after a lot of trying to talk myself out of it, I got back on the fuckmill....
... and cried for mercy after a half mile like the little bitch I am. That fuckmill gave me the equivalent of the middle finger, people.
I even thought that by jamming to Elton John's Greatest Hits would get me going. Lord knows I perform better when I'm singing to myself much too loudly. But no, it did nothing.
So even though the fuckmill hates me once again and a half mile made me want to die, I still managed to do 100 steps on my stair stepper which is making my thighs cry. Then I got back on my exercise ball and did 50 crunches and now it hurts to say.
But you know what? I can do this. I know I can. I did it before and by fucking god- I'm going to rock it out again peeps.
Please know I sang this loudly while trying not to die on the fuckmill.