Day 14: Eggs, Estrogen & Eurostar Energy

Worked from home today, so naturally planned a decadent lie-in until 7am.

My body, however, had other ideas.

Woke up at 5am, yet again, to the sounds of my cat hosting her nightly paranormal podcast. Topic: “Is That a Ghost or Just the Fridge Again?”

Breakfast was an emotional rollercoaster.

I lovingly made myself two eggs on wholemeal toast - only to be reminded (via digestive explosion) that post-gallbladder life does not love eggs back.

Honestly, it felt personal.

Work?

Absolute chaos. Emails, Teams, spreadsheets, and mild panic all competing in a Hunger Games-style battle for my attention.

No time for lunch unless we count licking oat dust from my keyboard.

Yet somehow still managed to do 5,000 steps. I am saving my legs for Belgium!

Meanwhile, my lovely boyfriend decided today was the day he’d eat like he’s training for a heavyweight championship - two pork chops and roasties for one, accompanied by his usual supporting cast of roughly 17 condiments.

Honestly, it's like watching someone host a sauce tasting event at every meal!

I, on the other hand, dined on a glamorous soy-sauce-sized bowl of chocolate whey protein, fruit, Greek yoghurt, and nuts. Sexy? No. Functional? Barely. Delicious? Actually yes.

Packed my suitcase for our ridiculously early 3-day Belgian getaway.

We’re leaving at 4am to get to St Pancras by 5am.

That’s not a departure time, that’s a cry for help.

I’ve also stealthily packed my protein powder and all the dry goods for my survival bowl.

If customs find it, I’ll just tell them I’m a fitness influencer (and hope they don’t laugh).

And obviously, we cannot wait to visit the Asterix & Tintin Museum - two cultural icons, one hormonal woman, and a boyfriend who’s about to get dragged into a comic book gift shop rabbit hole.

It’s going to be glorious.

I’m also manifesting a run-in with Vitalstatistix - preferably in full ceremonial gear, being carried by four exhausted blokes.

If that doesn’t scream holiday magic, I don’t know what does.

Tomorrow is big: third jab, weigh-in, and an estrogen patch slapped on my behind like I’m entering the Hormonal Olympics.

Must. Not. Forget. The. Order.

Ending the night with a hot bath, rubbish TV, and some light worrying about what I’ll eat in Belgium.

Worst-case scenario, I’ll be the mysterious Airbnb guest frying tofu at midnight in pyjamas.

Catch you on the continent.

Over and hopefully lighter out!

With Love,

JABatha Christie