OK, the Biggest Loser challenge at my full-time job begins for me today. I weigh in this morning, and then the fun begins: 10 weeks of seriously committed dieting and exercising, changing of habits, and (I am hopeful) establishment of healthful patterns that keep me staying with the program until I've lost 100 lbs.
I'm scared sh!tless.
I'm wearing black today to show my symbolic mourning for what I am saying goodbye to. OK, I know I'm saying good riddance to bad habits, but I've grown accustomed to my bad ways. Change hurts, dammit!
I have made arrangements for a weekly massage in order to stay sane. There is something so magical about a good massage therapist -- someone who understands physiology and is sensitive to the tight spots. I never have to tell my massage therapist where it hurts because he can tell by look and by touch.
Another good thing about my massage therapist: We don't have to dim the lights or burn incense or play new age music in order to have a relaxing session. I mean, he'd do that if I wanted ("It's your session," he says, "so if that's what you need to relax then we'll see how we can accommodate you."), but I don't want it. I want to fall into nothingness.
If you want his name and number, email me (see the profile). He does out-calls (comes into your home), and he knows his stuff. And he's better than any prescription medication for relaxation.
When I win the lottery (or otherwise become an impossibly wealthy person), I'm going to have a full-time massage therapist. A massage every day, or nearly every day. Willful relaxation. Purposeful, informed touch-therapy.
And then I'll also have a cook and a house-keeper.
And everyone will have their own house on my extensive manor grounds.
Well, I can dream, can't I?