So I'm really glad I started this diet malarkey the week before Easter. Oh yes, it has been a breeze to turn down chocolate daily as Sproglet collects egg after egg after big fat shiny sweet coco smelling, glinting in the sunlight screaming LICK ME! LICK ME NOW! egg... The worst being the bastard sons of the original hollow egg: the mini eggs - with their 'hold me in your mouth until my crisp sugary shell breaks and I ooze milk chocolate onto your tongue.... I dare you to try without gobbling me up whole.' Sproglet has a tonne of those buggers. Even as I type I have the urge to run into the fridge and dive amongst the colourful foils and end up like Alfred Molinari at the end of Chocolat, when he has a chocolate orgy frenzy in the window of Juliette Binoche's pretty little sweet shoppe. Old Juliette certainly liked the gooey brown stuff and yet she still snared gypsy Johnny Depp in that film - so why give it up eh?
Because I want my old wardrobe back even if it is old and out dated. I miss my faded grey jeans and my skinny dark blue size 27s. I have spent most of my 20s and 30s wishing I was thinner - always by that elusive half stone - and for once, I am going to get there. I want to approach *whispers* 40 (ok, tis 2 years away, but Husband bought me a 40th card for a laugh and it hit home...) feeling in the best shape of my life.
Plus, I went for a run for the first time in... well, since I was about 10 on Saturday night. IT WAS HELL. I followed some Paula Radcliffe article I'd read last week: run for 3 mins, walk for 1. Repeat 7 times. Sounded easy - how long is 3 mins after all? FUCKING FOREVER that is what it is. Here is how it went:
Reset stopwatch and Go!
This is easy, why didn't I run before? Good speed I'd say. Breathe, yes breathe. So must be nearly up by now. Starting to get out of breath, and feel a bit tight in the leg. Quick glance at stopwatch - 45 seconds? Eh?
Oh my god, do I really have to run for 3 minutes... ok I will. Just three then I can walk. Thank god for the walking. Ohhhh nice house. I want to win the lottery. Must buy ticket. Keep running, grab some muffin top to feel inspired. This will go if I keep on going. Good. Nearly there 2 mins 45 secs, come on, come on, oh must be 3 mins now.
Stop. Thank god. Can't believe I have to do this again. This walking is lovely. Why not just walk? Walking rocks? Best thing. No, must do it, do what Paula says - she of lots of medals and thin frame. Here we go again... This stopwatch must be slow, must be nearly half way... ok it is 1 min 5 secs. Oh god, I cant do this. My lungs are burning my legs are jelly and I am sweaty mess. 7 times. No way. Maybe 6. I like 6. Even number and all that. Oh thank god, is 2 mins 50. That'll do. Walking again. Bliss.
And on.. until I arrived home looking like a pulsating tomato, dripping in sweat. It took an hour for my face to be normal again. Sproglet asked was I ill. Yes. I fucking was. How on earth do folk run marathons? I am going to scrape my mate Peter's skin when he visits as I am sure he isn't human. Marathon people must be robots sent from another world to make us all feel bad...
So 6x3 min jogs and 6x1 min walks and I was a MESS. And my reward - Green tea! I would rather eat my own snot thanks a lot. Green tea is vile. Don't tell me you like the taste. I'd say if you do, you don't like yourself too much. Then came body pump on Sunday where my weak as a kitten triceps made an appearance - just to embarrass myself in front of all the other ladies - including a 60 year old - who could pump more than me and for longer. I should be on our bike downstairs as I type but I can't face it. Today is a rest day... My calendar has been marked - I have under 5 weeks. 11 pounds more to lose. It is so so hard to lose weight.
Today I jumped on the scales, convinced I must now be a waif - after all that no to chocolate and eating only green stuff and protein - come on - only 3 pounds? I have 5 more weeks of this. 5 weeks of no to cake - my best friend in life - no to bread. Just thinking about a crusty loaf gives me a wide on... No to alcohol (but I will neck a pimms on Friday - not that I give a damn about the Royal Wedding, but it is an excuse to be all British and smug for a day) and no to HAVING A LIFE. As of next tues cute trainer is back and he wants to make me pay for the sins of the cake that has gone before. My core strength is rubbish so we have to tone and firm up and basically this translates as - I will HURT. A lot. And sweat. And go very red. Maybe even puke. And at the end of it all those grey jeans will be mine again.
The closest I have come to chocolate this Easter is a wet kiss from Sproglet when he was sporting a chocolate moustache. Husband is on an even more radical health kick and looks 10 years younger overnight. I hate him. He lost 7 pounds in the first week and told me off for eating corn on my salad one night - as that is carbohydrate! The evil carbs! Christ I am boring myself now. Life is super dull without treats and lemon drizzle cake and a muffin for breakfast and a large red and a wee apple martini before bedtime and oh oh oh... I must stop before I get myself all excited.
Perhaps I will post some before and after shots. Please let me get to the after and let it come quickly... Right, I'm off to bed before the contents of the upper fridge starts to talking to me again.