Mission continues...Week 2

 What week are we on? 4? Yeah, 4.

And that folks, is how I am feeling.

I have to be completely honest...motivation to write this has dwindled a tad tonight. It's 10.30pm, and truth be told, I want to go to bed. (Yawn).

But here I am, writing...

Well, I'm actually sat here staring at my Calathea ('prayer') plant thinking how well it is doing. Three weeks ago it was dried up, half-dead and colourless. Right now it's looking the happiest it's ever been.

 Ok, well not as happy as when I first bought it home from Homebase...when it was a metre tall and actually dark green/purple. Before it was subjected to the neglect, overwatering and lack of proper nutrition. Poor thing has had over 18 months freezing it's tits off in the lonely, north-facing window-light of my flat and losing the will to live. It's also had me pruning it to within an inch of it's life and drowning it every week - because apparently I believe that if we just cut the brown bits off and throw some water at it, it'll miraculously transform it into a healthy plant. Wrong. It just ends up a stumpy, crispy, sad looking pot of shrivelled mess.

Fast forward to now. With a couple of weeks of sunshine, a bit of research into its' specific needs, cutting back on the liquid diet, bottom watering fortnightly...and most importantly, being patient with it... it's had a new lease of life. It's sprouting new shiny leaves, standing taller and getting a bit of colour back. 

Hilariously, when I say taller...it's actually now only about 30cm tall because of the excessive pruning. 

It really is still a bit scabby in places, but as I look at it now...it looks happier. I imagine to myself that it shouldn't be called a 'prayer' plant at all. The surviving leaves look as if they are reaching up to the sky. It actually looks like it's shouting, "Hallelujah!". 

The 'hallelujah', 'she's finally giving me what I need' plant.

The plant and I clearly have quite a lot in common.  

I've spent years overfeeding myself, not giving my body what it needs and over time have lost the ability to stand tall, grow confidently and my colours have dulled. 

I have continued to be good this week. Still really enjoying my workouts and getting my steps in most days. I went out on Friday and was told I was 'glowing'. 

I appreciate neither myself or the plant are quite where we once were, or where we'd like to be. We both need more time on our little journey to being fitter. But we're definitely trying...and sprouting... and people are starting to notice our new, shiny, healthier bits.

It's amazing what a little bit of change can do. 

The 'share' icon on my Fitbit dashboard has disappeared...but below is how this week went.

Weekend was a bit iffy but tried to make up for it by doing 20k on Sunday. Today has been a lazy one in terms of steps but I did my food shop, popped to see my Dad for a cup of tea and then cleaned/bathed the piggies. I clipped their scratchy, curling little talons and just cuddled them for a little bit. I know my body needs exercise...but sometimes my soul just needs to soak up their little fluffy love and pet their little fluffy heads. My oldest girl really is looking old now.

Every time I go into Pets @ Home, I stand at the till and look up at those massive signs detailing info about each animal for sale. 'Guinea Pigs. Life Span: 6 years'. I think she's around 5 or 6 now. Reality is that sometime in the probably not so distant future - I'll go into their room and she'll be gone. So I didn't do my steps. I hugged her for a little while instead.

Usually I'd be on a mission right now to get my 10k in before midnight. Like Sporty Spice & Cinderella's love-child. However, I've got to be up early for a session with Stu (@diamondperformancept) - starting at 8am. 

I apologised this week for how seemingly miserable and ungrateful I am during my sessions. I do nothing but moan and complain about every single exercise. 'It's too harddd... I cann'ttt...." 

Considering he's giving me his time, effort and expertise...I should probably stop telling him that I hate him 100 times in the hour.

In all honesty - I don't hate him. I hate physical exertion. I hate anything that makes me feel like I'm about to die and/or vomit. And anyone that knows me also knows I absolutely detest early mornings.

I'm like a Mogwai. The rules being:

• Do not expose the mogwai to early mornings, especially mornings before 7:30am (unless it's for a flight abroad)
• Do not let it come into contact with people before copious amounts of coffee...
• ...and above all, never make it lift weights at 8am.

So I'll be taking myself off to bed now (midnight). Ready to douse myself in coffee and sweat first thing; looking, feeling and acting like an absolute Gremlin.