I hate you. I wish you terminal hemorrhoids. You make me feel so confused. Sick and strong at the same time. I hate you...but I love you. You are like a really bad boyfriend. The kind you keep going back to, even though he treats you like garbage and makes you hurt, even when your mind and body are shrieking for mercy. Am I being overly dramatic? Maybe. But one arm push-ups and over 70 pull-ups in an hour is just too much. This week you almost made me vomit at least twice and I blacked out several times. Lying in bed last night my head was literally spinning. I still feel sick from yesterdays workout. (or maybe it was the 2am honey roasted peanut binge) Either way, you are killing me...ever so slowly...I feel like dumping you and burning all your letters; but then I look in the mirror and see tiny muscles peeking out from under their hiding places, I see actual abs...WHAT?!? I see RESULTS. And I know I can not give you up. You're like crack. Dear P90X... in 60 days we say good-bye forever. Seriously.
So, I don't have my "Day 1" pics but here's my progress so far. Please ignore the huge-ness of my breasts (breastfeeding makes um kinda...ummm ENORMOUS)