Day 4: Video of the Day

   I'm back.

   Weekend over, back to the grindstone. Today the regime starts in earnest, as I believe I am to receive my diet today. I awoke once more at some ungodly hour at which no man has ever seen sober, and decided I needed some motivating. Before I had had so much as a morning vitamin C tablet, I cranked up the Tarantino Mix Tape with callow disregard for people who might still have been sleeping, and T-Rexed. I tell you now sir, there was bogeying. I was smooth, man, it was awesome. Then of course I realized I needed to get dressed, and my entire mood fell about 500 feet again.

   I give you: enthusiasm:

   This is calling out to be a motivational poster.

   I don't know if this is a thing that has been noted before, but DAMN it's cold at 4 AM in the winter. After I had mixed and swallowed my Lipidsana shake, I washed out the little shakey bottle thing so it wouldn't go yoghurt, and I DO BELIEVE I LOST A LITTLE FINGER INTO THE KITCHEN SINK. It's ok, I fished it back out again, a little Pritt and it's back on a treat, but that'll give you a start in the morning.
   I realized that my currently rad uniform of high-tops and tights is probably not what the experts would call optimal for a rigorous morning of walking nowhere, so I went hunting in my cupboard for a pair of tekkies I vaguely remembered from the mid-ninteties. The good news is, I found one.

If you direct your attention to the left, you'll notice there're actual Crocs in my home also.

    I don't know where the other one is, but I think it said something about the Mexican border and a Swedish nanny once, so I don't think I'll be seeing it again anytime soon. High-tops it is then. (High-tops it are? I'm confused.) 

   In order to cheer myself back up again, I'm sharing some videos. I figured the idea would be one at a time, but as I'm feeling a particular chill in interesting areas this morning, I'll call it a bonus. 

   Video Uno:

   I challenge you to tell me that is not awesome. Then, since this dude owns all the awesome:

  I encourage you to explore his uploads in full, because it physically hurt me to try to choose only two of his videos to share. I know how hard this is, I tried it a while ago sound alone (sans video) and it's truly a bitch.

   Alrighty, gymming done for the day. Personal trainer Ross Kemp was entirely MIA, and so I proceeded to entertain myself on a variety of machines. This is all exceptionally 21st century, really. When they did all my assessments on Friday it was all done on an all-in-one station that seemed to weigh me, give me my fat percentage, blood pressure and read my palm all in one go. Now, running furiously for my life, there's a little TV screen with a selection of DStv channels for my edification right there on the machine with a little earphone jack and everything. I was terribly disappointed to find that my most promising option for TV was Cartoon Network though- if you're going to promise me moving pictures whilst I sweat uproariously, the least you can do is give me some Gordon Ramsay to ease the pain. How young are these gym bunnies getting if two out of 8 channels provided are cartoons?

   So instead, I just went with the music on my phone. Here's my problem: the moment my excellent playlist started, I was once again hit with the irresistible urge to throw down my smooth moves right there in front of the salt-water swimming pool. Man, I wanted to dance like a madman.
   Since Ross Kemp has failed to tell me what to eat or on which stationary object to walk, I think I'm ditching him. I can sweat all on my own, and I'm sure that since it's still about 500 Bajillion % more exercise than I was getting before, it can go naught but well. I celebrated my rebellion with some of the gym's orange juice, which tasted like ass and made me very sorry not to have celebrated with cheese cake.

  I broke out no choreography in there, if you were wondering, I demurely bobbed my head and simply fantasized the kind of hurt I would drop on these unsuspecting members of the public if I had had even an ounce less shame. What a missed opportunity for a flash mob.