Okay, so it appears I lied. Or at least, my powers of prediction are crap-tacular.
Sunday came and went, but the cacophony of illnesses didn't. In fact, they only got worse. Lovely Husband; Dear Boy; Me: all down for the count. Bam, bam, bam. Sinusitis, bronchitis, bronchiolitus, snotty noses, stuffy noses, wheezy chest, hacking wet cough, dry itchy cough, double-dose antibiotics, lozenges, codeine syrups, pain in the chest and then a trip to the emergency department.
*ed. Blood test results are in - an atypical pneumonia is the culprit, causing all of our woes and me to do something really, really uncomfortable to my ribs. Who knew floating ribs could be so... moveable.*
So there has been no exercise besides the occasional walk in the sunshine or a stroll around the shopping centre to find the pharmacist.
I miss it. I feel like all the hard work I did in the first few weeks is being undone. That my fitness is sapping away somehow. I'm still strict on the food side and am seeing weight-loss results but I'm disappointed that I may not make my 'proceed to the next fitness level' goal by the time the program ends in four weeks.
I think my new plan will be to add on a number of exercise weeks to the end of the program equal to the number I missed. That'll take me pretty close to Christmas, and perhaps give me a buffer for holiday treats.