Yesterday was a fasting day, as prescribed by the Food Bastards (aka Kathryn and Birgit at Real and Vital). They’re the ones who got me on to the 5:2 diet and are using NSA-style surveillance to make sure I stick to it, in the hope/expectation that my sacrifice will appease the rugby gods.
When I finished work last night at 8.30pm I thought I’d polish my virtue by going to the Jetts gym and embarrassing myself in front of the gorgeous young things. The gym is in a suburban shopping centre with a pub and some fast food joints and a specialist butcher surrounding the carparks.
After sweating revoltingly for an eternity I staggered back out at 10pm and was met by a huge salivating cloud of bacon perfume. The butcher was loading up a supermarket truck with his finest sweet and smokey pork product.
Bastard! All that virtue flung back in my face and nostrils and throat and stomach.
The reward is that this morning my scales said I am down to 118.5kg, a loss of 19.1kg in two and a half months.
Fair’s fair, Richie. What have you got for me?