I'm really scared. Everyone's all like "Ease back into it, be careful, don't do too much." And I mean everyone. Common Law. My mother in common law. Random people on and off the internet. But it's not like I have a choice. If I don't teach a full schedule then I don't get the sweet, sweet sugar, or I get about the same amount of sweet, sweet sugar that I'd get by continuing to dip into the threadbare pockets of the state. And the longer I don't do it, the more it's going to hurt. Had me a little crunching practise this morning to see how resting my shoulder blade on the floor is going to feel. I did maybe a third of the track I'll do tomorrow morning. Now, all of eight hours later I feel like someone has been knitting a scarf inside my upper abdominals. And not in a good way. I'm not all that worried about the shoulder. The shoulder will be fine. Probably. I'm worried about my poor, poor legs. Already suffering under an extra stone of weight, tomorrow they must perform three spin classes in addition to ten bizillion squats and lunges. I am going to die of achy legs.
Yes, that's right. Thought I might slip that by unnoticed but no. Yes. A fucking stone. 14 pounds. 6.35 kilograms. 111 Snickereses. Stop laughing. Stop. You bastards. Everyone, except my mother in common law, keeps telling me I look great. The bit of extra weight suits me. I look much healthier. So fucking there. But of course I don't. Naturally, it doesn't. I disgust my fat-arsed Winnie the Pooh self. Give me another two weeks and I'll be sending search parties out for my cock. So now I crave the pain. The pain that will make me not a porker. I crave yet I fear.
I really am very, very scared.