I was thinking about New Year’s resolutions recently. Now that everyone has had time to settle back into the routines: the post-holiday, post-resolution, first-full-week-of-school-and/or-work demands are pressing their way back into the indentations they left in you in 2012.
Those first few days of resolute optimism are good. Hopeful. But there’s something about that first full week – or maybe it’s the second – that always threw me off my game. The illness would come (a cold; or one of my kids would develop strep – it’s the toddler, this week, by the way) and I would use it as the reason to cease said resolution to get through said difficult time.
Yesterday afternoon, our power went out. I was in the beginning stages of cooking a lovely meal: chicken was soaking in buttermilk. Panko had been toasted with walnuts and parmesan. It was all going to bake and brown. I had been able to prep and plan a mid-week meal like this because I was home with a sick little one. But then the lights went out. My first thought: OMG! I didn’t run yet and now I have to run in the dark in our neighborhood rather than in the basement on the treadmill. I kid you not, within 30 seconds I had a plan of attack to do four to six loops around my street because I would get in a mile or more plus some hills.
When we give up on those resolutions that first or second week in, it’s understandable. I’ve done it year after year. How can you fail when you haven’t really started? Did you even vocalize what it is you hoped to change/do/start/finish/be? I did. Finally. I’m accountable. To me. To my partners in this. To my family. It feels good.
After the lights went out, I confessed to my husband I hadn’t run yet. And he said I should run around our street four times: I’d log my mile and be done. I love that he came up with the same solution I did.
The power came back on in an hour. I ran in my basement after I put my kids to bed. I ate something on the lighter side from Panera. I cooked up that delectable chicken tonight, instead. After working all day. And taking my kick-ass, 6-year-old daughter to tae kwon do — where she sparred for the first time. Then I ran 3 miles.
Like I said, it feels good.