I've put on half a stone in little over two weeks. Just goes to show that that extra slice of pizza, that lazy skip of my gym fix, I'm hooked again, back on the junk..... my skinny fit t-shirts just look shit now. I wont wear them at the moment, in case I stretch tit marks into them. I need endorphines, I need them raging through me, I need to go for a run tomorrow, get the fitness vibe back into my lazy arse head. I *will* go for a run tomorrow, after my chocolate croissant...mmmmm! Nooooo!!!! Throw it in the bin, go for a run... yummy chocolate oozing out of puff pastry... aaggghhh
And why are work sending me to Munich next week? That means biscuits, stollen, massive sausages, pretzels and weissbier...mmmm delicious! Noooo! I feel like eating, Nooooooo!!!! Wear lederhosen! Do a happy slap dance in the town square with a large Bavarian gent and get fit!
Exercise! pull yourself together! Snap out of it. But what about the three christmas do's this week, and Duke Spirit playing on Wednesday night, your favourite band... surely you'll have a drink and maybe get hungry..... Ahhhh! Stop it! Stop it! This is torture. Why doesn't eating give you a six pack huh?