It happened. I’ve fallen off of the Insanity wagon. I’m not proud of this at all; I’m actually really disappointed in myself. This is the first thing I’ve quit this year (other than my old job, but that doesn’t count, because I actually “resigned” in December; my last day just happened to be during this year), and my goal was to stay committed.
I could give you the rundown of my excuses, but what's the point in that? I didn’t really feel like I was getting anything out of it. After a month, I had lost a quarter of an inch off of my legs, but that was it. I talked with my trainer friend and decided that it was pointless to keep pushing myself through these workouts that I loathed, when there were other ways for me to stay in shape that I enjoyed (lifting weights, boot camp, pilates, kickboxing, dancing, and trying to bathe Dex without getting soap in my eyes). If I can do something I love and get results, why not make the switch?
I did make it through my first month and recovery week, so I am proud of that at least. I actually started the first week of the second month and about 15 seconds into the warm up, I was rolling my eyes and sighing dramatically like a 17 year old at her parents. Nothing personal, Shaun T., but it just wasn’t for me.