#108 Kiddy Cake & Confessions

Two buttery white bread cheese sandwiches and a slice of Smarties cake for dinner (it was my little cousin's 4th birthday. Sweet!) don't really make for inner peace and my belly's still bloated 12 hours later. When I feel icky the temptation is to stay put on the sofa (and when it's raining, as it is now, the inclination is multiplied a million-fold) and indulge in dodgy box-set marathons as opposed to the 26-mile variant, which is really what I happen to need - and have needed for several months, having noticed that the photo on my gym membership card has faded almost entirely away thanks to being left on the sunny windowsill for the best part of the summer. I've grown lazy. Really lazy. SO lazy in fact, that last week my leg went to sleep during my five minute walk to the train station. That's not good.

So, how to motivate yourself when you're feeling distinctly... well... bleurgh?

I have a friend who forces herself to read Teen Vogue on a fat day, knowing that the sight of myriad stick-thin teens will ping her arse to the gym quicker than an email from her eagle-eyed editor. Not healthy, but, well, borderline dysmorphia and psychological torture are her Mr Motivator.

I have another friend who came up with the Slovenly Sunday - a day when she eats and drinks whatever she wants, without reason, and if she's unlucky enough not to throw up spends the next six days making up for it at the gym and with meagre diet dinners. Oh, and she's a health editor at a consumer glossy. Figures.

I also have a stick-thin gay male friend who thrives on Larabars and protein shakes and runs 2 marathons a week to make up for his sky-high alcohol consumption.

Well, needless to say I shan't be choosing any of the aforementioned routes (and if I ever did, would feel the need to chase them with a weekly psychotherapy session, or conversion followed by confession) and shall instead pull on my waterproof boots, trudge down to my local food market in order to refresh & reinvigorate my fridge, and then wander through the park in the rain.

And set my alarm for 7am tomorrow morning in a desperate attempt to get myself to Body Pump and melt away my latest fat deposits (that Charbonnel et Walker Chocolat Chaud was worth it though!) before my membership card melts down from misuse.

Oh, and prepare to laugh at me all next week as I trial the Hydro Healing Classic Detox... which I'm doing for work and involves just 3 juices a day for 3 days, a colonic and... well... I'm guessing a whole lot of tantrums and toilet trips too.

Happy Rebirthday to me.

I'll cry if I want to.