I’m down 27 pounds and holding, and not the least bit happy about it. I’ve reached a plateau. My desire is flagging, my discipline is out the window. I’m always sleepy and craving sweets.
I’ve made promises to myself that I’ve broken, and though I’m healthier than I was when I started in February, I’m nowhere near where I wanted to in June, so it’s time to pull out the heavy artillery.
I contacted personal trainer Leslie Moraitis – for some reason, her name is really easy for me to remember – and requested two personal training sessions next week, and every week from here on out. First session: 6:45 a.m. Monday at the gym.
Leslie occasionally reads this blog, and knows I once (lovingly?) referred to her as “Demon Spawn from Hell” after one of her sessions. I’d paid for a couple of sessions, then dropped out because of the cost, and also because I didn’t think I was ready for her brutal sessions.
Honestly though, it was a good kind of brutality, if that makes any sense. The kind of intense workout I could love to hate.
And that’s exactly what I need right now.
I actually emailed Leslie last night. I’d been watching the new show Losing It with Jillian, and was inspired. I usually don’t watch un-reality shows like that and Biggest Loser, but there was nothing else on, and I needed some background noise while I was in the kitchen baking a cake for my son’s 22nd birthday. Forty minutes in, I emailed Leslie during a commercial.
I actually liked the show’s premise – Jillian Michaels has just one week to make a difference in a family’s life – and liked that it wasn’t just about eating the wrong foods, but exploring (however briefly) the root issues. And when the overweight husband and wife were getting Michaels’ trademark screaming-meemie treatment in the gym, I wanted to be there, too.
I know. Sick, right?