Today I am going to teach you a valuable lesson: how to avoid becoming estranged from your grandmother when you turn down her homemade Christmas cookies. You may be asking, “Why do I need to know this?” Well, let me explain.
Last year I wrote a blog post that detailed my experience working out with two of my friends. To recap: it did not go well. I love running and most other forms of cardio, but using weights has never appealed to me. Sure, I always wanted to be muscular, but I was not too keen on the idea of spending time in a weight room to make that dream a reality. So in true goal-setting fashion, I decided to force myself to use a weight room by saying that I would have to use a weight room twelve separate times within four weeks.
Remember how I had originally switched one of my 21 goals from running a half marathon to running a full one? Well, I hate to say that I am being forced to switch back to my original goal of running a half marathon.
I am no longer practicing a vegan diet. Now before you begin thinking that I have failed my goal, let me explain myself. I originally began my vegan diet as a means of both completing one of my twenty-one goals (to go on a stringent diet for thirty days) and to make up for last year, when I failed to go more than six days as a vegan. I entered into this challenge with a heavy dose of optimism, and I end it, after eleven days, with the knowledge that I am doing what is best for me.
Vegan! Yes, after much consideration, I have decided that veganism will be the stringent diet that I am going to follow for thirty days. This goal is very exciting to me, because I have been wanting to push myself to try a radical departure from my typical diet, and I believe that a veganism is about as radical as I could get (aside from attempting a breatharian diet).
I have always enjoyed eating, and can remember how even as a young teenager I would binge on food. One memory that sticks out is of a time when I snuck into our laundry room to eat ice cream that was in the freezer. I was so scared of getting in trouble for eating something that I had been told not to touch that I did not even use a spoon to eat the ice cream. Instead, I scooped it out with my hands, as if I was a starving man who was raiding a dumpster. I wish that the stolen ice cream was an isolated situation, but that was not the case.