Everyday when I walk into work I don't smell the scent of crayons and pencil shavings, nope, I smell I money. Cashola. The green backs. Bankroll. Moolah. I smell 70% of the $290 Biggest Loser pot. I could even deal with my sniffer breathing in the aroma of a second place 30% take. In the last two weeks I have managed to lose seven pounds. Could I be okay with nabbing the third place pot? Maybe if the rest of the cohorts keep gaining or maintaining ($1 each week if you gain, .50 if you maintain). By April 29 I have plans to be able to sport my prom dress again. (Only Lin has had the pleasure of enjoying the vision of my beautiful vintage frock.) I'm going to be needing to do a lot of fast moving to meet that goal.
Oh, talk about fast moving, it's surfaced: the proof, that I was working my Ginger Rogers moves so fast I seem to have lost my shoes.
That my friends had to be worth at least a pound of a head start on the race to being the Biggest Loser.