WEEK 7: The One Where I Nearly Sack It Off and Move to a Spa

Right, full disclosure — this week almost broke me.

You know those workouts where everything just feels... off? Like your leggings are too tight, your sports bra is possessed, and your glutes are still asleep from 1998? That was me, Monday through Thursday. I even googled “early signs of iron deficiency” and “how to become a retreat leader in Bali.”

But let me back up.

The Hormones Are Hormoning

Ladies, the rage. One minute I was meal-prepping quinoa like a domestic goddess, the next I was crying because we were out of hummus. Not even the good hummus. Just the sad, supermarket one. This body reset journey is a rollercoaster and this week, the ride was bumpy.

Gym Update: Still There, Surprisingly

I dragged myself into the gym three times (OK, two and a half). Big wins:

• I did a full unassisted pull-up. One. Singular. But it counts.

• I met a woman who’s 56 and deadlifts her bodyweight. I now want her to adopt me.

Small losses:

• Tripped on a resistance band and nearly face-planted into a kettlebell.

• Forgot to eat post-workout and tried to “power through.” Rookie mistake. Ended up eating four chocolate rice cakes in the car like a goblin.

The Pep Talk I Gave Myself (and Maybe You Need Too)

Progress isn’t pretty. It’s not always Instagrammable. Some days it’s greasy ponytails, sore abs and self-doubt. But if you’ve made it this far — seven weeks of anything — that’s not a fluke. That’s grit.

So this week, I reminded myself:
✨ Strong doesn’t mean perfect.
✨ One bad day doesn’t ruin the whole mission.
✨ You can cry and still crush your squats the next day.

What’s Working

• Protein pancakes. I’m late to the party but they slap.

• Mini-goals. This week I just focused on moving my body for 30 mins. No pressure.

• Wearing the fit gear even when I don’t feel fit. TYNA sets = main character energy.

What’s Not

• Random fasting experiments. Don’t. Just eat.

• Weighing myself daily. It’s not data, it’s a mental breakdown waiting to happen.

• Comparing myself to 24-year-old influencers who do Pilates on yachts. We are not the same.

So no, I didn’t move to a spa. I didn’t sack it off. I whinged, I wobbled, but I stayed in the game. And that, my friends, is growth.

See you next week — unless I do end up in Bali. Who knows.