I've got to get this off my chest (and out of my stomach).

I can't keep anything from you guys. I can't. I lose sleep at night if I blog a lie.

So I'm going to go right ahead and let you all know I totally failed at my No Sweets for Lenten idea, like, days ago. More like last week. Monday. I'm such a failure! Etc., etc. I cannot live without the following items flowing through my bloodstream at almost all times: mint chocolate chip ice cream and Nerds. The economy-sized box. Not at the same time. Therefore I am guilty of eating sweets, over and over again. Sigh.

I try and tell myself that, "It's OK, you worthless waste of human. You'll burn the calories during your daily training runs." Which would be cool if I also hadn't eaten half of a Tony's pepperoni pizza in addition to the Nerds. I'd have to run 16.7 miles to to burn all of those calories off. Note: I ran FOUR miles this morning. Four. Not 16.7.


Other than the pizza and the occasional ice cream and the weekly fix of Nerds, I'm doing quite well. (Minus yesterday's chicken tenders, and the donuts over the weekend). During the week I try (very, very hard) to maintain a diet of: Weight Smart Quaker Oatmeal for breakfast, salad and a low-fat yogurt for lunch, and carrots as a snack. It's the whole dinner and dessert idea that rather kinks my Health Plan.

So last night I decided: (drumroll, please) Tomorrow is the day I stop eating shit. I was pumped about said idea. I woke up at 5:18 a.m., ran four miles, drank lots of water, went to work, ate my oatmeal, drank some green tea, felt refreshed. Hooray, self! You're doing it! And then Lovely Lady from the local seniors center, who reads the online half marathon training forum I maintain, stopped for a visit (and to do some work, but whatever, we visited). She hands me a rather large muffin. Chocolate chip, to be exact. It's in a Ziploc baggie, all packaged nicely. And she says to me, "Here. This is for you. It's to let you know even fat and out-of-shape people are thinking of you, too." And she put the muffin in my hands.

Duh. That's like putting a loaded gun in the hand of, well, someone who feels the need to shoot. Things. Or, whatever. So I smiled, thanked her, and cursed myself for lack of control. Because as soon as she left, I opened the baggie. I tore off a piece of muffin. And I ate it. Followed by the rest of the muffin. And now? Now I feel like I have 18 pounds of badness lodged in my belly. And I know that the 487 calories I burned this morning during my workout is not going to take care of this problem. And the only way to lose weight, says my trusty Runners World magazine, is to burn more calories than you consume.


So, if you'll excuse me, I'll be doing laps around the parking lot. And pretending there isn't an economy-sized box of Nerds sitting in my car waiting for me and my 45-minute commute home tonight. Dangit.

And tomorrow... tomorrow I will stop eating shit.