Carpe Diem...tomorrow?

My weight is up, my resolve is down, my lips are in winter state of permachap, and the artificial sweeteners I have recently consumed are having a raucous party in my large intestine. My three week long head cold has evolved into a sinus infection, just on the left side, mind you. Which means behind my left eye it feels like someone hit me with a small finishing hammer.  Right side is just fine. My workouts over the last few days have gone like this:

1. Pick up really heavy weight and do ten reps of (fill in the blank) while I wonder if the pressure in my head might cause my head to pop off my body.

2. Set weights down, go directly to the bathroom to blow nose. Marvel at three pounds of substance I expel (left side only) so vivid in hue that it could be a new Crayola color. 

3. Wash hands, return to station, pick up really heavy weights, and do it all over again. 

It has not been a week of triumph. In fact, tomorrow is cheat day, and I plan to let it fly. I have gingerbread cookie in my bag as we speak, and I intend to eat it with my morning coffee. My house is filling up with sweets; they are coming at me from every angle now that we are less than a week away from Christmas. 

And I am tired of being good, of protein, of feeling hungry. I am tired, period. With 20 weeks to go, I cannot see how it is possible that I will be ready to step on stage in a bikini. The last public viewing of my stomach was around the time Chaka Khan was cranking out the hits. Things have not gone well for my stomach since then, and I am not sure there is enough time to reverse it. 

When I really want to shake my head at my insanity, I turn around and crane my neck for a look at my rear end. For the most part, my derriere is still a nightmare. Yes, I can now wear jeans with some degree of confidence, but I have to be able to crack nuts with this thing by May. There cannot be dimples. There are dimples. 

I missed a workout this week due to this crazy three-day storm, so I am scheduled for a back workout tomorrow, on Sunday, when I normally take a run outside and take a day away from the gym. I may run anyway. I think it may do me more good in the long run--mentally at least.

One story I heard in the gym this week has helped me keep a stiff upper lip in an odd way. A member came in talking about her daughter's recent hire as a snowboard instructor at the local ski hill. The daughter showed up for training of the first day, and among her new colleagues was a mother and daughter duo who had never snowboarded before. They intended to be instructors, skip the learning curve, experience be damned, and jump right in.   

Well, now that is some bucket of confidence. I hope to wake up tomorrow with a little more of that, a little more resolve, and a need for fewer Kleenex. 

I am eating that cookie, though, first thing in the morning.