Really, just because one has a birthday a few days after the first of the year, does one need to embrace a sense of right and indeed, duty, to continue to eat shit (as opposed to reluctantly climbing aboard the "New Year" green blended pseudo-food bandwagon) for days to follow, so as to fully inhabit the rights of a birthday celebration?
In other words, if I know I am going to eat cake, drink wine, and have whatever the hell I want to at the sushi place on Saturday night, then what's the point of cleaning up my diet in this first week of the new year, only to blow it all to heck on Saturday night?
Rationalization baby, it's a heck of a tool.
But that said, once again the old familiar tale of feeling tired, feeling crabby, feeling out of sorts, and generally blue and funkified all suggests that it's a quarter past high time to kick myself in the hindquarters.
Like, running. Sure, it's great I ran a 10k in December and had a blast. But, haven't run since.
Like, eating. Sure, it's great to discover that cutting out sugar and dairy and grains makes me feel better, no bloat, no gut pain, etc., but the sees chocolates just consumed don't quite fit into that schedule.
Like, get the hell on with it, self.
Why do I do this? And why do I continue to have to ask myself that question, month after month after year after decade?
It's a puzzle. Not so much the why (well, that's a puzzle at its roots, too) but the why I don't stop.
Great post today that mentioned that forming a new habit is hard work. Truth, that.
Hard work is required. But a specific goal also seems to be necessary.
So, maybe signing up for a race and taking it seriously - #1. Writing up an actual budget on paper and taking it seriously - #2. Re-re-re-re-culling the clothes and actually committing to the holes in the real and necessary wardrobe and taking it seriously - #3.
Taking yourself less seriously - #4.
Because 41 hits on the morrow. The final countdown has indeed begun. No green smoothies necessary.
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