Face the Facts When I began my training, I was actually in fairly good shape. I was hitting the gym five days a week and ate mostly proteins, whole grains and greens during the week. But come weekends, my inner fat kid came unhinged, devouring bottomless mimosas and mixed drinks, Uber Eats, pizza and, my Sunday ritual, Nutella-filled doughnuts.
I had my reality check when Rockwell asked me to take "before" photos in a bikini. Up until then, I'd relied on oversized sweaters and lose-fitting shirts to hide my forever food baby.
After the first few snaps, I asked my photographer to show me the pictures and when I saw them, I cringed. Months of indulging were obvious around my waistline. My once angular face had transformed into Pillsbury pudginess. That's when my demons made their first appearance. Standing at 5' 5.5" and 150 pounds, I believed it would take a miracle (or liposuction) to transform my potato-esque body into that of a chiseled competitor's.
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