I’ve put on five kilos.
My summer wardrobe feels more snug than it did six months ago.
It’s mostly thanks to emotional eating, with the wedding and mum’s health taking a nosedive since May.
So I jumped on the scales yesterday and I came in at 90.5kg.
On Valentine’s Day, I was 85.5kg.
This isn’t right.
So tonight I whipped out the workout gear, jumped on my creaky ol’ cross-trainer and worked my little (over-worked and struggling) heart out.
And I took a photo. An unflattering one.
I have to work on my mental health in the process to pinpoint causes and breaking old habits. I have to work on my motivation, determination and everything else I need to whip my own arse into gear.
Cause right now, I have to be honest with you. I’m not feeling it. I have to fake it til I become it.
Join my cheer squad? Please? Cause as cute as Elvis and Bear are at playing Joe Biden and Nancy Pelosi to my Barack Obama, they aren’t exactly going to support me when I’m contemplating that next can of Coke…