You Can’t Always Get What You Want…

The weekend, so far, has been blissfully free of musical theatre, for which I am profoundly grateful.  It has also been free of exercise, for which I am less grateful. The mind is willing, but the flesh is weak.

Despite all the other benefits that I am reaping, one of the things that the intermittent fasting regime seems to be failing me on so far, is any sense that my periods might be getting any more regular or less peculiar.

My period was due last Tuesday, according the the counting back through my diary to the last time I felt really shitty technique that I employ.  As regular readers will know, I fainted on Monday, which was what led me to do the counting back through my diary in the first place.

Since then I have been like a cat on hot bricks, feeling crappy intermittently despite putting the fasting on hold to avoid any more fainting unpleasantness. I have been carrying on with the exercising, because I didn’t feel too horrific, just horribly aware that misery was coming down the line at some point soon.

Yesterday, my intention was to get up and go for an early morning swim before getting on with the rest of my day.  I set my alarm, and then woke up feeling thick headed and physically shaky.  I lay in bed for a while longer in the hope that it would cease, and I could get up and get on.

Instead I gave up after half an hour, and instead of an early swim, went and had some breakfast in the hope that this might stop the shaking.

It didn’t.

I decided that I was clearly not meant to swim, or indeed do many of the other things I had planned for the day.  I did manage to get on with some cleaning and go for a gentle walk, with plenty of pit stops to sit down along the way, but that was about it before my period decided to stop messing around and actually get on with things.

Today I am fit for nothing much of anything at all. I have treated myself to co-codamol and a hot bath, and am using the enforced lolling time to catch up with my reading pile, which is, as ever, massive.

I still hope that if I persist with the exercise and the 5:2 that my lady parts might take the hint and become more lady like and behave themselves for five minutes. It is a glorious dream, and possibly one which is achievable.  I also hope it comes sooner rather than later. I was rather looking forward to torching the chaise-langue of death (TM).

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