Okay, so here I am at the gym, having got up 1.5 hours earlier than I normally would on a school morning. Actually, I woke naturally and in alarm a further 12 minutes before the alarm so that’s, 1.6 hours, I guess. Anyhoo, it’s fucking early and I’m here.
I had high hopes of finishing a movie from my Keanu-athon but the kids (or, let’s face it, Husband,) put my ipad spmewhere and I couldn’t find it before I left. I managed to scrounge his earphones since I left mine in the bedroom, and I finally made it out the door. Gah, I’m tired.
I played Golden Girls Monopoly with friends last night, 10 out of 10 highly recommend, would definitely play again. Had the obligatory cheesecake and managed not to eat the remaining half of the cake before bed, or after Husband had gone to bed. I googled the calorie count (why? WHY?) and it wasn’t as bad as I was expecting. I managed to cut the slices thinner than I would normally do, but it’s a new year and new me, right?! But I had two, so. I think the two slices equal more than one serving, so by using that same equation, 1 serving = 500cals, ÷3, × 2, still equals too much whipped cream but I’m here bright and early, ergo, pretty sure I’m breaking even so far.
I asked Husband about the event in September that has the 40m bike ride, and he said 2 hours, I think, for him to ride it. He’s “a cyclist” so I need to add at least another hour to the cycling section of my exercise regime, [side note: is it a regime if it’s only 3 days in?], which gives me a total of exactly 1 hour in my cycling regime [side note: if the answer can be ‘yes’, then I can be strict enough with myself to do it]. I am 20 minutes into that aspect of the regime and I must say, my will to live is flagging.
. . .
I finished, I survived, I will exercise another day. Keep on fighting (one of the) good fight(s).