I think I am...wait for it:
TOTALLY HOOKED. Ugh. I looked at bikinis. Previous me would suggest I be shot for doing so but this zombie infected Jillian-ite not only is looking at them but considering what tattoo will cover my childbearing stretch marks on my stomach.
This is bad.
I realize my only hope here is it smash the damn DVD. Bust it into pieces with a hammer. Physically, I can't bring myself to do it. Furthermore, I consider I actually feel like PUKING just at the thought of it. What. Have. I. Done.
I realize all of this today, not because I am compelled to exercise, not because I can get through more reps, but what I saw when I moved the cat. Something popped out of my forearm and scared the shit out of me. I had to study it, touch it and look at it twice. It was ::gasp:: my brachioradialis. Brachio what you say? It's the "picker upper muscle" for those of you that are slow to realize you can click the link and get the official description. When going through training as an RMT, I was pretty accustomed to seeing the Flexor carpi radialis (or as I like to call it, the "quick waving when you are trying to get by someone and avoid any personal interaction" muscle). WEIRD.
Not really sure what I think of this. Then I realize I must be okay with it because I am looking at this and this and I want a pair of these.
So to sum it up, Jillian is trying to force me into financial ruin. I am compelled to buy new stuff, in 8 days I remind you. Never would have thought this was possible nine days ago!