I can't even write it out, that's how disgusted I am with this entire thing.
We are in the home stretch, people. At midnight on Saturday we will officially end this ridiculous challenge. Some will gloriously run past the finish line, boasting hundreds of pounds lost and thousands of hours of sweaty exercise.
Others, like me, will crawl across the finish line with a frappuccino in one hand and a brownie in the other. I am counting down the minutes, people. COUNTING.
No more working out at 10:30 pm just to squeeze in another 30 minutes.
No more office Fare Shares that resemble the Dust Bowl.
No more loathing, cursing and beating-up of my treadmill.
No more bitterness towards others who have far-excelled at this challenge, bitterly coveting their svelte figures while eating Oreo balls.
No more attempts at new work outs where you hear things like "shred," "ripped," and "extreme muscle confusion."
No more feeling guilty if I eat a cupcake...or five.
Freedom is right around the corner, peeps. I can taste it and I can't wait to dive in.
Oh, and yes, I do feel healthier and all that rot. But whatever.