I didn’t work out yesterday. I don’t know if it was all the wine at Bestie’s house or something I ate, but I was so sick yesterday. And not a cute sick. A gross sick. A smelly sick.
And so, while I contemplated various half-assed workouts I could do that wouldn’t take me too far from my bathroom, I soon realized it wasn’t going to happen. I wasn’t going to get a workout completed. My 100 day journey would end at 60 days.
And it sucks.
Even now, my stomach is still gurgling and the most I can hope to do today is a walk or maybe some yoga that doesn’t include any twists, and I hate it.
Worse, I hate it for all the wrong reasons. I am not worried about getting fat or losing muscle tone or irrationally emotional because my hormones are all out of whack because I haven’t had an endorphin rush in more than 24 hours.
I’m pissed off because I only got to day 60. And I don’t know what to call today.
Yes, this is very much my own personal challenge and so it would be easy to just say tomorrow I can start at 61. Or extend it to 102 days. But both of those feel like cheating.
But I also wonder if making tomorrow Day 1 (again) isn’t just a way for me to avoid the inevitable day 101.