Thoughts and Observations on doing the 30 Day Shred.
Day One: If I die in the next 30 days, please tell the Authorities, “Jillian Michaels did it”.
Day Two: Dear Jillian, my fat hurts. Thank you for that.
Day Three: Dear Jillian, I’m irrational—but you scare me. I’m pretty sure if I look directly into your eyes I’m going to turn to stone. That would make you Medusa and me crazy.
Day Four: Dear Jillian, Your lips are moving but I can’t hear a word you’re saying! Â (Oh the joys of a mute button and an ipod. “I started nothing, I wish I didn’t!“)
Day Five: Dear Jillian, F*&% jumping jacks.
Day Six: Dear Jillian, Â Why didn’t you warn me that I could bounce right out of my jog bra? My walls were embarrassed for me.
Day Seven: Dear Jillian, Black is not my color. I want on the blue team.
Day Eight: Dear Jillian, I’ve been brainstorming some ways to make your exercise Â video more marketable. Â I think you should have a pudgy, out-of-shape, forty-something in the background huffing and puffing and occasionally swearing at you behind your back. Realism sells. Just look at that show, “The Biggest Loser.” Â No, I’m not volunteering. I can swear at you to your face in my front room. Just sayin’.
Day Nine: Dear Jillian, I’ve changed my mind. I think I’d rather look atÂ Jason Statham.
Day Ten: Dear Jillian, I got up early today to do your stoopid video so I could sneak off to Portland. I’m going to eat a cheeseburger and think of you.
Day Eleven: Walter Tango Foxtrot (I just moved up to level Two. It’s not pretty.) what did I ever do to deserve Â you? Oh, right, that cheeseburger yesterday.
Day Twelve: Dear Jillian, talk to the hand. Dear Knees, please don’t give up, blow out, or cave in before day 30. If you do, the bad woman wins.
Day Thirteen: Â Somehow, it’s easier to get through a work-out with aÂ full gospel choir singing back-up.
Day Fourteen: Dear Jillian, I think I’d pay Â big money to see you face-plant into a huge box of chocolate. Yum, yum.
Day Fifteen: Dear Jillian, Half way today. That’s all I’ve got. What do you mean I need to write more? Keep going? I’m not working hard enough at this? What’s that? I. Can’t. Hear. You.
Day Sixteen: Dear Jillian, You know how they say you can do anything for 30 days? Well,Â they lied.
Day Seventeen: Dear Jillian, Why do you keep repeating yourself? And how come you never change your clothes?
This diatribe, er, faithful chronicle has been interrupted by a nasty head-cold. The author is busy extricating the nasty rhino-virus that has taken up residency in her upper respiratory track. This broadcast will continue upon the eradication Â of said virus and when her daily consumption of kleenex no longer equals the death of a small forest. Please stay tuned. The snarkiness will resume.
Day Eighteen: Dear Jillian, So! I missed a whole week due to a nasty cold and you didn’t even miss me! Â You could have sent flowers, you know. (And note to all you keeping track: I’m going to keep at this until I’ve done 30 work-outs. It seemed better than starting all over.)
Day Nineteen: This is me waving a white flag. Between the virus, which I’ve still not completely kicked, and a knee injury (yep, it finally gave out!) I’m calling it quits to doing this work-out every day. I’ve decided to scale back to 4 times a week while I let my body heal.
I’ve decided to put these observations in a post and take down the page. And I’ll have an update on my “weight-loss” progress in a few days.