1.19.2016

january 19th. 17 down, 533 to go.

well, we're 19 days into january, and i haven't thrown in the towel. i'm still going strong. i've eaten real food about 80% of the time and i haven't gone more than two days in a row without working out. given my track record of giving up on myself, i consider this all a huge win.

in other news, i sliced the tip off my finger on sunday. okay, not really, i didn't slice the tip off. but i really hacked into it pretty good while attempting to slice a lime. but if i were to say "oh, i cut myself on sunday", you wouldn't be nearly as interested in the rest of the story.
for those of you following along at home,
i believe that's a C/G chord on the guitar.

in order to not instill panic in the children, i pulled john aside and showed it to him to see if he thought it needed stitches. note: never ask john this question. he would hemorrhage to death before going to get stitches. so, you guessed it - the consensus was no stitches were needed. i blew through about 14 band-aids trying to get it to stop bleeding, which it finally did. so maybe he was right? i don't know. i'm not ready to concede.



anyways, fast forward to today. on the way to the gym, it broke open and started bleeding all over the place. and since i do not have a first aid kit in my car, i wrapped it in a dirty sock i found in the bottom of my gym bag (because hygiene), and headed into the gym. i checked in and asked the nice fella behind the counter if they had any band-aids. his response was "yes, we do. but what do you need it for?"


are you kidding me right now? why do people typically ask for band-aids?


in a split second, i thought of two answers i really wanted to give: "i got my period", and/or "nothing." instead, i just showed him the bloody gym sock wrapped around my finger, and he fetched me a band-aid. like i said, nice fella.


after the band-aid questioning, i headed upstairs and had the best run i've had in months. i've been forced to run my miles on the treadmill for the past 10 days, since the high temperature has been in the negative digits, and the runs have not been going well. the time and the mileage drag on like a snail in syrup, and everything feels heavy and soggy. also, i'm kind of number obsessed when it comes to running - i like to know my average pace, my current pace, where that is along the spectrum of improving, etc. but on the treadmill, focusing on those numbers can be death as miles and time tick by at a syrupy snail pace. so today, i covered up the screen with my sweatshirt and got lost in my playlist. i did a solid 30 minutes of running, which i don't think i've been able to do since sometime last spring. i am super happy about this.


yeah, i'm the creep taking pictures of the treadmill.

after the treadmill run, i had a smoothie.


ginger berry smoothie.
and the asshole cat who still thinks nighttime = playtime.

after running a few errands, getting home, and standing in the hottest shower i could tolerate, i realized i was completely starving. i poked my face into the fridge to see what kind of trouble i could get into. and there it sat, staring at me: the leftover pizza from last night (see aforementioned 80%). i wanted to eat the whole bag. but i thought about how that was going to make me more hungry, and probably start the downward spiral into carbs-fat-cheese-salt. so i stopped myself, cooked up an egg and had it on a piece of grainy bread with a mushy avocado. still carbs and fat, but at least they were real ones.

i didn't take a picture of my avocado toast.
but i found this educational tidbit on the internets!

dinner tonight was kind of thrown together with what i could find in the house. oven chicken parmesan, roasted broccoli, and bruschetta mix that i both wolfed down on some baguette and also scooped on top of the chicky-chicky-parm-parm.


treat yo'self.

today was a good day. things are going well.


until next time,

ashley "C/G" rebekah

1 comment:

  1. If the dang words you write didn't kill me, your pics surely would. Dino with paper cut, for ex. Yourmom

    ReplyDelete

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