So, I start my day by ogling new BareMineral lipsticks online, thanks to my wonderful email system which is stacked with a plethora of “Look! 20% off!” or “Look pretty in pink this sprummer!” emails. Sprummer. What kind of neologism is “sprummer”? It is kooky, so I like it. But, I digress. These naughty emails encourage me to let my inner prowess off its tight leash and try and embrace my femininity now that the nicer weather is upon us (supposedly…*looks at dark clouds and rain*…typical May in Britain!) However, one cannot simply look good by just slathering on pink lippie (attempt of a Boromir quote shoved in there) Over the years of becoming aware my appearance, I have noticed there is a lot of maintenance involved in actually not looking like a spam and spuds dinner. To fit with my desire for a Michelin star level of perfection, it requires a mass of prep, brain power, physical energy, organisation, artistic creativity and motivation (the need for lipstick is the final step, unfortunately).
Just thinking about this is already exhausting and my hoodie and jeans are beginning to look ever more appealing. They even seem to have an angelic aura about them. But, damn it, I want to wear that crop top. OH YES. I want to achieve the best my body can achieve. There. Willpower. Good start. Ohh, my Graze box is here!
Okay, so the food front is…reasonable. I have a pretty healthy diet, but the occasional flapjack does entice me. When the oats pass my lips and the sweet goodness is just tingling on my tongue, how could I resist? But, now, since I have started to see Sally Side Fat emerge on my hips, I have come to the decision that if I want to wear that crop top, I must cease these sweet treats. Or, at least…exercise. *Gulp*
I have begun, as of today, this 60 day intense workout called “Insanity”. My dear boyfriend is trying to get fit and he found it online and showed it to me. He’s all determined and has completely changed his lifestyle, and he is looking better and better everyday. But, now he is getting buff, unfortunately, I cannot let him down by letting myself go. I will support him and I will also do this because I want to get fit for myself. But, if this work out kills me, I know who to blame 😉 (cheers, chuck!)
I began with the “Fit Test” which has to be done every so often so you can record your progress from start to finish. I thought I was doing alright at the beginning (bar looking like I was doing dodgy dad dancing at a wedding) and wasn’t too sweaty or tired. Then I got to these push up jack wotsits and I suddenly realised that I was more out of shape than I thought. The sweat beads began to trickle down my face, like a child going down a slide. My head was pulsating like a massive heart beating away. And my hair, oh my hair…it hasn’t half gone curly from getting so sticky. It then dawned on me that when someone has a “killer bod” they must have virtually died trying to achieve it.
This is going to be brutal.