Well I finally tracked down the last bottle of vanilla syrup in Starbucks. 3 towns, and several days - the trek was long and arduous but, finally, a bottle of the golden nectar is resting upon it's small, velvet cushion.
You'd think this would mean a day of unbridled joy and wonder. Unfortunately the horrors of PMT and the "world's worst diet"™ led to immense hideousness. Not having breakfast was the start of it. Then trying to exercise. (You know what's coming - I did too, and the horror just kept coming, like it was in slow motion.)
Tried to run round a rugby pitch (devoid of players) - managed 3min. Yes, that's minutes - not miles. The horror of the very rough surface and the long grass was such a pain to run on that I stopped; that and being a miserable bugger. I just dog-walked for a bit and then headed into the gym, thinking running on the treadmill would be easy in comparison. It was NOT my day - I just felt like lead and hated every minute. I stopped after about two min..
I did manage to give my muscles a fairly decent workout on the weights, although it had been a month (couldn't believe it was that long) and I was as weak as a kitten. I did at least 3 x 20 reps on all the machines I usually use, and the masocists special on the tummy machine.
I had a late committee meeting this evening and we hadn't had time to go shopping so I had to pick up horrible take-away pizza on the way home (at 10:15PM). You know you've had a bad day when the onion on the pizza and the Smoothie ice lollie are desperately being totted up as your total fruit and veg for the day.
*Off to go and drink some orange juice in atonement.
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