Rachel, a month in.
You may have gathered from my last post, but its the kind of week that it just might bear repeating: it’s been a rough week. Like I wanna dive head first into a vat of lobster & melted butter then jump out and dry off with some New York cheesecake kind of a rough week.
With regard to diet, I’m getting bored.
With regard to the workouts, I’m exhausted.
With regard to cooking and cleaning and tupperware and washing the same workout bras 3 times a week and did I mention the tupperware? This new adventure is a part time job, and the pay is my ass. But today—oh sweet baby Jesus today—you rewarded me kindly.
I’m not sure I’ve mentioned it before, this whole thing we are doing has an incentive tied to it (well outside of the obvious incentive of massive weight loss and potentially looking incredibly hot). It’s a weight loss challenge, and the winner gets trip for 2 to Paris. Today was weigh in day for the challenge.
At our first meeting with Hamish (on January 3rd) we did a “test” workout and weighed in. Both almost killed me. The workout was 20 minutes and the shame of how it went was almost unbearable. I weighed in at 238.
Today I weighed in at 224. And the shame, well, its sort of like my ass. Slowly disappearing.