Evening, all! We've officially passed the two month mark of my new life and I love it. I can now fit into everything in my wardrobe and I believe I'm right in saying I'm the thinnest I've been in a good two or three years. I'm so proud of how far I've come and how much my life has changed already. However, I have a massive journey ahead of me and feel that I've barely scratched the surface. Yes, it's been two months, but I have another ten to go and I worry that I won't be able to maintain this pace. I'm scared that I'll quit.
I've been training well this week, but not quite to my usual standard, as I'm actually getting increasingly busy and having to juggle a lot more. My volunteering is taking time, my job search and arty farty endeavours are increasing and feel that my gym-going will inevitably suffer for it. I'm pleased to report that my diet is as good as ever. I can now allow myself to eat like a normal person occasionally and not be the food fascist I've become. Generally, I'm delighted with how my relationship with food has changed and how my desire to eat shite has diminished.
I think I'm in danger of becoming too obsessed with this and consequently punishing myself too much. It's important that I continue to work hard and eat well, but I'm reaching a stage at which I get really annoyed with myself if I feel I'm not working as hard as I should be. I need to be careful or I'll end up miserable.
I think I'm going to wipe the slate clean and focus. Tomorrow is Monday. I have a few things to do but I'll hit the gym hard Monday to Friday. I'll eat like an angel and train like a bull. I'll work like a Japanese prisoner of war and sleep like a corpse. That should do it.
Next Sunday is the weigh in and I want a good result, to prove to myself that I haven't started slacking. Bring it the fuck on.