Last week I almost died. Now I know I am prone to the occasional exaggeration, but this is a true story. I had attempted to up my gym game, mainly because Zack made me. Before this I was quite happy having a casual little peddle on the bike whilst watching Mean Girls/Seventeen Again but apparently I can be more productive when pushed.
So I had been on the cross-trainer, had done my weight exercises, had complained of a stitch for about 10 minutes, had cursed Zack in my had about 15 times and wanted to collapse on the floor at least twice. And still my hour wasn't over. With my legs feeling like jelly, my arms feeling numb and sweat dropping into my eyes and blurring my contact lenses I clambered on to the bike as elegantly as ever - panting like a pug.
It was all going well, I was smashing my sprints and thanking God that I wasn't made to go back on the cross-trainer, then all of a sudden... I couldn't breathe. I genuinely believed I was having a heart attack, and so (obviously) I dramatically held my chest as I gasped for air. I clearly wasn't having a heart attack but in my head I was utterly convinced and thus panicked. Panicking in hindsight was not my best move as this further prevented me from breathing and I looked like an even bigger tit. I think Zack may have even been slightly concerned as he didn't bark at me to keep peddling. Thankfully I got my breathing under control, the humiliation was harder to hide but in truth I was just glad I wasn't that person that fell off a piece of stationary equipment. Having regained what little composure I had left I proceded to collapse on the mat to do my stretches post workout - where I look like fat Jesus being crucified.
After my close brush with death I decided life was most definitely worth living and proceeded to drink my body weight in water and gorge myself on salad leaves. Pre potential heart-attack I would have dived into the biscuit tin and relished the taste of being alive with a hob-nob, not any more.
Don't worry I haven't changed too much (if at all), I still refuse to take pea protein because it smells like dog shit, it makes me gag and you wouldn't have had it in the olden times therefore you shouldn't take it now. And I still went out at the weekend, and lied to Geeta about how much I drank.
It was the return of Alice Willmott from her travels and obvs the original plan was just to go for a couple of drink you know...have a catch up. But having spoken to Alice the night before her return and her declaring that she was now an alcoholic, I was dubious as to whether the plan would remain the same. I made a promise to Zack I would take it easy and that I wouldn't go too hard; by the sheer fact I didn't have any Reggae Rums I would say I kept my promise. This also meant no shots - much to everyone's annoyance who kindly bought me a shot, but much to Alice's delight who elegantly guzzled down any Tequila in sight. And so our non-messy, civilised in fact classy night went a little like this.
Blame Alice, none of it was my fault Zack. Thankfully by 7am Geeta had given up all hope of a sober return and we snuck in unnoticed. The next two days were a blur of depression - after a much fun weekend going back to chicken and spinach, and dying on the cross-trainer was not ideal. BUT after three weeks of hard work in the gym and perhaps not being as strict as I should be on my diet...one stone has been shed. This means my hips no longer share the same circumference of the M25 - success.
There are still 1.2 billion little lbs to be dropped, but there is hope. Inspiration comes in may shapes and forms but this weeks inspiration is a wager set between myself and Shariat. Whoever fails in the 'who lost the most weight this week' challenge buys the shots. Who says I'm not motivated?! Obvs Zack these will be shots of water...or at most orange juice.
Having evaded death and the potential dire humiliation of falling off a stationary bike, I feel confident in saying...I can do this.
Fatty BB xxx
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