You might be wondering (yeah, I know you are NOT wondering, but I am obsessed; please just hang in there), since you know I swore off drinking for two weeks in order to do The Crazy, why I went for the first mojito, rather than a nice-girl glass of club soda.*
Without further explanation, a recap of my progress, re: The Crazy.
Day Five: Ate stuff, drank stuff, worked out like a crazy person, actually tried for soreness. Failed. Went out for pad thai with Sri, had two glasses of wine and an entire plate of noodles and peanut sauce... in other words, blew the whole thing.
Day Six: Not sore, but very tired. Worked out again like a crazy person. Ate arugula, but had curry puffs for dinner. At midnight.
Good. Lord.
Day Seven: Had roughly 9000 work problems to handle. Went to the gym, climbed, swam, handled work problems while on treadmill with cell phone in hand. I always wondered who the jerks who talk on the phone at the gym are. Now I know: me.
And today I am handling 9000 more work problems before heading off to the gym. Again. I am tired.
Actually, my biggest problem is that despite my non-stop late night eating (and drinking, yo) I am no longer measuring appropriately. My waist shrank an inch and my hips only a quarter inch. And now I am a .72 - not the worst thing in the world, no. But it's not appropriate.
So perhaps this post is about the devil after all.
* yes, I know. I know that one post about my obsession with my tape measure and my need not to fall behind on the trail would have been sufficient. But it's on my mind right now, kind of to the degree that my dissertation would be on my mind if I had a lick of sense. Or were not under the full sway of demons, I dunno.
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