Weight Loss Woes

Day 1: Procured a workout partner in crime. Rhonda has a membership to the same gym, so we agree to hold each other accountable. She shows me around a little. I mount an eliptical for the first time and end the session by flinging myself wildly off the back of said machine into an occupied treadmill. Damn it.

Day 2: Head to gym in stretchy pants and Chad's tshirt bc nothing else fits/conceals my giant ass. Sit backwards or sideways on most of the equipment. Severely strain my muffin top on one of the ab machines. Vow that the insanity stops here and to come back everyday until Im waif thin and buff enough to snap Chuck Norris' head off with my pinky.

Day 3: Get up early and head to the store to buy new workout clothes. I buy the least expensive pair of workout pants for two reasons. 1. they are gonna wear out QUICK due to the lack of steel reinforced mesh panels on the inner thigh. (Maybe they could use Kevlar instead, but i doubt it wicks away the moisture like you'd want it to and swamp ass is the worst.) 2. Hopefully I'll be dropping some lb's and will need a smaller size in the near future.

Day 4: Make pact with Rhonda to not buy any new clothes until we're able to buy a size that doesnt make us want to punch newborn babies in the face. She puts me in the sauna for first time. UGH! It's hot and there is nothing to do in that wooden box of hell fire. She gets tired of me spraying her in the face with the water bottle fairly quickly. Three minutes into it im dying and stripping like she's got a wad of singles in her sports bra. Oh, and we have to keep our underwear on or cover up with a towel? Would have been nice to know that before this nice lady came in. Hello ma'am. Please stop staring at my vagina.


Day 5: Fuck the gym.

Day 6: Hoping today would be the first day I didnt bust my ass on the treadmill. No such luck. 'Treadmill rash' is worse than road rash bc now im chubby and uncoordinated and bleeding. Cross your fingers it scabs nicely and heals clean. I cannot figure out why I feel the need to jump off the moving treadmill instead of pressing the stop button and waiting for it to slow. It's like my feet have ADD and just have to show their ass while we're in public. Maybe tomorrow's my day...