Part of the program at my gym is a monthly assessment, where you are weighed, have your thighs, waist, arms and hips measured, have your body fat tested, and then do as many squats, bench presses, push ups, pull ups, sit ups and then run a mile and a half as fast as you can.
Just writing that hurts, because let me tell you, it was the most depressing thing I’ve done in a long time.
The good: I finished the mile and a half.
The bad: It wasn’t pretty.
The ugly: Well, let’s see. I weigh more than I ever have, ever. The circumference of my thigh is as big as the waist of a large model. In all strength categories, I am considered “below average” and my BMI puts me in a scary weight risk class.
To say that this was depressing is an understatement. The good news, I guess, is that it really forced me to face how serious this is. It’s more than just wanting to fit into a certain size or look good in a bikini. It is a health concern. While it’s been fun to be silly and snarky about this up until this point, I was bitch slapped with the knowledge that this is serious and I need to treat it as such. No more slip-ups and “Oh, it’s just one more dessert.” It’s time to take it seriously.
Because next month? I’m going to freaking rock that assessment.