There have been tears today. Mine. I called the Devil this morning blubbering like a school girl at a One Direction concert.
Why, you ask? As previously mentioned, Wednesday is weigh in day on the 12WBT. I took to those scales this morning relatively confident I had to have lost at least half, probably a full kilo. I even finished Tuesday night off with a 1h:45m session on the cross-trainer. Hell yes. I’ve eaten as though my body was a temple (with the minor exception of Saturday nights pizza episode – not enough to warrant crucifixion). I woke, I weed and I weighed. It wasn’t good enough. I looked at those scales in utter fucking disbelief. Not a gram. Zip, zero, zilch. I’ve lost nothing this week. It is seriously enough to almost make you want to throw in the towel. I won’t however, that’s just not how I do things. I was really surprised by how much it affected me. I shot off a text to the Pain Master, who while feeling for me and in desperation to offer some solid advice, suggested I give up coffee… What smack is she on?! Lucky she wasn’t within punching distance (note for file: I have actually cut back to one, maybe two a day, so it isn’t the coffee).
Then, after collecting the Trolls from school, we went to visit my beautiful Nan, and my very dapper, but quiet and in the background, Pop. Nan listened intently as I described how committed I have been to this program. Nan nodded and enlightened me with 1200 calorie diets have been around since Jesus was a lad, she’d done it herself. And then she dropped her own conclusion on the matter – perhaps I’m doing too much exercise…! What?! (it would be unfair to suggest my Nan was on smack, and highly disrespectful – I’m sure if I asked her what I was referring to, she’d happily demonstrate with the wooden spoon fair across my butt!). In protest I did try and explain that Michelle Bridges has had success many times over with this regime – it must be me, I must just be the gumby that it isn’t going to work for. Nan asked how much I’d actually lost in the almost five weeks of the program. When I said 2.9kg’s, I did the maths quickly (not my forte) and worked out that is, on average, 580g a week. Nan thinks this is sufficient, any more than that and it really isn’t good for you. I love my Nan, she has perspective.
Still a little down in the mouth, I took the Trolls home to the Devil (who very wisely was downstairs hanging out in his man cave) so I could go to Pilates. Yoda could sense I wasn’t my usual chipper self, he is the wise one after all. Let it be known, mood or mindset do not provide excuses for not giving your all in the studio. Ms P corrected my technique, again. I did contemplate admitting that there really is no way for her to tell if my abs are ‘engaged’ correctly – they are, after all, incredibly well hidden. So off I toddled, doing my thing, and of course I end up at the Pike. Ms P wanted six of them, and in quick succession. She had a stick in her hand, of course I felt coerced into doing it. I delivered six, possibly not as quickly as Ms P originally had in mind, but at least she didn’t beat me with her weapon. Then she had me do the side Pike. I’ve only just somewhat accomplished them right way round, what’s this side on business? I did three – on each side. I do think Ms P was being a little generous in allowing them to count, but after my day, I was taking them, owning that damn Pike and side Pike and every other form of the Pike.
In my usual post Pilates fashion, I also trained with the Pain Master. Younger sister, Midge actually showed up. The Pain Master put us through our paces. I was a little pleased to see that Midge would have happily thrown up the burger she consumed before coming to train. Her cries of “I can’t” and “it hurts” were met with “it’s not my fault” and “I didn’t do this to you” from the Pain Master. Such compassion, and to think she’s about to become a nurse! The sweat was dripping off me by the time we finished. I made a choice tonight while at Pilates and cemented my thinking while training. It is really up to me. I can choose to fail or I can choose succeed. I may only need to adjust my definition of success. I’m not saying make my goals any less challenging, I’m merely saying that if ponder particularly what the Devil, Nan, the Pain Master, Yoda and Ms P have all said, with a slight attitude adjustment I may just start seeing the glass is half full.