I resolved, if you will, to run at least 500 miles in 2007. That worked itself out to about 1.4 miles per day, or a little over nine miles per week. Piece o' cake.
However, add in being sick since the end of December and, well, I haven't ran an inch so far. Not to mention the part where I ate mint chocolate chip ice cream on New Year's DAY (because it felt good on the throat), hence killing THAT (no chocolate) resolution in 19 hours, flat. I am happy to report there hasn't been a drop of pop (soda?) in my system since last year (I actually took a ceremonious "last sip" of Cherry Coke on New Year's Eve).
But I've got to get the ball rolling on this running idea. I figure 10 miles a week from here on out will keep me on track. And if all goes well, maybe I can triple that this summer. So I'm fairly confident. But I am NOT confident with this food situation.
Rember that little part where I started counting calories yesterday? Bad. Idea. Now I'm a FREAK. I'm not, you know, keeping myself from eating because something has too many calories, but I AM ridiculously aware of what is going into my body. Who knew two tablespoons of peanut butter had 200 CALORIES? (So I put just one tablespoon's worth on my bagel just now. A bagel that, by the way, has 230 calories).
Even the nine baby carrots (one serving's worth) I packed in my lunch have 35 calories. And milk? Low-fat, skim milk? 90 calories per CUP. This is crap. I demand a recount. Or something.
I'm also disappointed to report that the 15 Chili Cheese Pringles (one serving!) I packed contain 150 calories. The ONE Twizzler Pull-N-Peel I snuck from The Fiance last night? 100 CALORIES. 1-0-0.
The logic behind weight loss is that you have to burn more calories than you consume. Apparently I better start running. Like, yesterday.