Just look at her. My hero of the day.I do exactly the same, just within the four walls of my home. Before and after the gym.
At 45, the body doesn’t just need care — it needs serious renovation.That's why I drag myself to the gym three, sometimes even four times a week. Sometimes I still can not believe it!
They say the key to a fit body is 70% diet and 30% exercise. (once you hit midlife, add a mountain of vitamins, keratin, and other powders with questionable effectiveness.)So I’m doing my 30%. As for the 70%... let’s just say it's out there, living its own life.
Don't get me wrong — I try.Every morning, full of ambition, I plan to do intermittent fasting. Only eat from 11 a.m. to 8 p.m. Sounds simple enough for most, but not me.
At 7 a.m., I have my coffee — technically it should be black, no sugar, but for me with a splash of milk. I refuse to believe a few drops of dairy will ruin my fitness destiny.
By 10 a.m., I’m starving. I give up and make breakfast.Still healthy-ish: full-fat Greek yogurt, homemade granola (because I’m not a monster), some frozen berries, and an overly generous squeeze of honey.
That carries me until around... 11:24 a.m.Right before the gym, I need a little snack to avoid fainting — usually a cookie or two, grabbed on autopilot.
After an hour at the gym, it’s time for lunch. And lunch is serious business.No sad salads or "low-fat" nonsense. Real food — something my husband and son will actually eat without suspicion.
And then... a square (or three) of milk chocolate. A small celebration of survival.
By 7 p.m., overwhelmed by previous choices, I settle for a modest sandwich, feeling like a responsible adult again.
By 9 p.m., I'm back at it — starving and raiding the pantry like it’s a national emergency.
Reading all this, it’s a mystery how I haven’t yet exploded from the sugar... or simply floated away on a sea of fat.
But here I am. Still standing. Still trying.
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