Week 4 - Green Eyed Monster

 


Week four sans alcohol and life Chez Jones is rather divided.  The Testosterone wielding Alpha of the Jones Clan is living it large.  Gone is the overindulgent temporary weaknesses of the Festive Season past, replaced it seems with an overzealous training schedule of cardio, weights and HIIT.  Calorie scorching, fitness frenzied activities have well and truly resumed, health is high on the peak, performance, priority list and the smug motherfucker whose basic metabolism alone could power South Warrington is feeling great.


I am NOT fucking happy. 


My miserable oestrogen flooded ovaries and the rest of my sorry ass carcass is sulking, and desperately wanting a quick fix diagnosis, I punch into Google – ‘What is wrong with me?’ followed by an almighty list of ailments, including I am fucking jealous of my lesser half and his fucking fitness finesse.


Up it pops…..THE WALL!


Not ‘Off the Wall’, as in Michael Jacksons, legendary album, although ‘Don’t stop till you get enough’, contributed to me being here in the first place, Oh no, this is a thing, a real place of unhappy fucking moods…..I have officially not just Hit the fucking wall,  I have literally faceplanted it.


Apparently, this place in time, of hitting the wall, according to the World Wide Web, gives ex addicts three options to consider:


1) give up since they no longer see results; FUCK IT OFF

2) remain at that plateau thinking what they are doing is enough and never progressing; STALL FOR A BIT AND THEN FUCK IT OFF

3) push through it by changing up the current workout. PULL UP BIG GIRL PANTS AND CRACK ON

Right,  Option 1,  I start debating the pro’s and cons of booze, like my teenage self, unsure whether to go back to the serial cheating wanker of an ex-boyfriend who shall remain nameless.


‘But we were SOOOOOO good together’

‘Nothing fills the void he left’

‘What about the happy times’

‘Watching films, listening to Music, isn’t the same’

‘Life is so dull without him’


BOLLOCKS to that, Option 2 teenager thoughts, that oddly end up more stalking than supporting.  Christ the knowledge of dating experience is wasted on the Youth.


‘Give me one more chance to prove it to you’

‘We can make it better this time I promise’

‘We won’t repeat the mistakes, we can do it differently this time’

‘You know you love me ‘

‘Your miserable without me just look at you’

‘Your friends like me’


Hummmm,  I debate this for a while, I mean I have no fucking choice but to stick to option 3, Rob would have a field day with ‘Told you so’, on repeat.


I can’t help but thinking however, for others on the option journey, that Option 3 would have a much greater percentage Up take, with an added incentive thrown in for the sufferers.  For instance, a personal appearance from Jesus wouldn't go amiss,  a Brucie Bonus for having such faith in the process, not a lot to ask for under the circumstances me thinks? 


‘So’, 118, 118,  demands to know as he pulls on his trainers for his zillionth run of the day, ‘You joining me for a jog or are you STILL in a bad mood’.


Rob has loved me patiently, I remind myself, throughout mine (and Irene’s)  persistent naughty, bad boozy behaviour in the past and during this time we have steadily morphed from sand to rock.  Rock incidentally, with my Medusa stares,  he will physically be morphed into, if he calls me moody just one more time today.


The Wall is down, I remind myself,  The Wall is down.



 

 

 

 

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