🟣 Send help

I’m sat on my bed right now. And lads. I can’t bloody move.

Why?

Not because I’ve trained so hard my limbs feel like pasta

But because I’m tippy tapping this little email from a fucking masterpiece of a shit pit 

Which I have no motivation to do anything about.

To set the scene:

The floor is like a charity shop stockroom

There are approximately one hundred and thirty two glasses on my bedside table

(and twenty seven more on the floor next to my bedside table)

And I’m on my last pair of pants

How did things get this tragic?

Well, for the last two weeks, ever since landing back on beautiful British soil, I’ve put off the hard thing and played the blame game like a pro

At first I pinned the clothes-plosion on my lil punk of a suitcase

That magic little wheely bastard wanted to do me over, surely

But mostly I blamed work, telling myself I’d been so busy since getting back from my trip that I hadn't had a chance to unpack.

However sitting here now, making eye contact with my bare mattress because the sheet has popped off, I can see that the chaos is winning

Enough living like Wall-E (even if Eva was hot for a robot)

It’s time to admit I’m in a motivational black hole.

A motivational black hole which also has my training in a chokehold.

Sure I’ve banked a couple of half arsed sessions here and there since my return

But the normal routine is deep in the shitter. Basically at the u-bend.

And just like the floordrobe, the gym dodging excuses have been flowing thick and fast.

Too tired.

Too many emails.

I’ve got to tackle the floordrobe before it grows legs and starts asking me how my day was.

However, at times like this I like to remind myself that I know exactly what happens if I do let things slide.

One week becomes two weeks. Two weeks become a month.

And the guilt starts consuming me.

Before I know it I’m questioning whether I should buy the barbell some flowers to apologise for being such an inconsistent melt.

But the solution to all of this is not that deep: I just need to stop waiting for motivation to turn up.  

So I’m going team. Right fucking now.

If I can find my car keys (they’ve potentially been eaten by the floordrobe)

I am returned!

Was that a good session?

Absolutely not!

But I did it.

I showed up anyway. I opened the program. I did the thing.

Sure, I shuffled around the gym like a bit of a wayward chicken. I lifted less than I wanted to. I left earlier than planned.

But I went, and I did it properly.

And now I can see myself going again. And again after that.

Building the habit back up brick by brick.

Sure it’s feeling a bit shite right now, but I know if I keep grafting, somewhere around week two of being a silly little gym chicken, something’s gonna shift.

I’ll stop having to give myself a pep talk in the gym car park. I’ll start actually wanting to be there.

And I’ll get clucking excited about my progress again

Not because motivation magically returned.

Or because I feel less like a chicken 🐔 

But because I kept showing up until it did.

And that’s all there is to it.

So if you're in the same boat right now, surrounded by a Guinness World Record breaking floordrobe, consider this your push to do the thing.

The Bits app is a fab way to get that first brick laid – I’m following my Get Mosh Pit Ready programme for the next couple of months prepping me for some festivals this summer.

But with bags of programmes that are ready to go, there’s something for everyone, and all you have to do is show up.

Plus there’s a 7-day free trial. So what’ve you got to lose? > GET THE 7 DAY FREE TRIAL ON THIS HERE LINK

Whatever excuse you’re finding – whether you’re just back from a trip, or you no longer like the colour of your running shoes, just start.

And brick by brick, you’ll feel less like a chicken and more like a gym baddie.

🐔 > 🦸‍♀️ 

Cockadoodledoo floordrobe lovers,

Rachel

P.s. Yes I’m trying to make ‘gym chicken’ happen and what 🐔 🐔 🐔