The Hazards of Setting Goals

Well - yesterday was not a good day for me. I wanted it to be, but alas, 'twas not to be.

First of all, let me reveal to you a few of my goals:

• to eat better and
• to exercise at least 90 minutes per week.

Both noble and good goals, to be sure. Let's delve a little bit into WHY I set these goals for my self. I mean, the blunt reason is because I have put on a few pounds lately. Part of the reason for this is because when we were in Farmington, at an altitude of approximately 5300 feet, my digestive system was affected in a not so pleasant way. After dropping 20 - 25 pounds I was diagnosed with IBS - which I obviously had all along, but only acutely affected me when we moved to high altitude because gas expands exponentially the farther up you go. Now that we are back at a relatively low altitude, I've eaten more because, quite frankly, it doesn't physically hurt to do so. This has resulted in me putting on about 15 of those pounds back on. Therefore, the above mentioned goals have been set.

The first goal, eating better, has entailed cutting out between meal snacking and excessive sugary foods and serving more vegetables. Believe it or not, the vegetables are the hardest to implement in this family. (Shocking, I know.) I keep putting them on the table, but it's oh so helpful when I put something new on the table, and before anyone has even sat down to try it, Jerry walks up and says something to the effect of, "Broccoli with cheese sauce! Nasty!!!!" while making accompanying gagging noises. I have sworn to him that the next time he does this, he will be stabbed with whatever utensil I can lay my hands on first.

The second goal is what has me in a funk at the moment. I've been trying to be good. I actually dusted off the old Post-Partum Buns, Abs and Thighs video and worked my complaining muscles. Monday I went walking, even though Oklahoma's signature 30 MPH wind was blowing. Of course, I stiffened up afterwards, but I didn't realize how much until yesterday, on my way into the mall, when I managed to catch my lagging foot on some uneven pavement, and down I went. Oh, and not gracefully either. I tried to catch myself, but ended up going down on my knees, ripping a big hole in my pants, and then my forward momentum took me all the way down - I had my right hand wrapped around my cell phone, so I scraped all the skin off both the palm and knuckles of that hand. Luckily for me, I did not hit my head or break a bone - just suffered a wounded ego.

As if the hole in my pants weren't evidence enough of my clumsiness, as I was telling Jerry about the whole incident that evening, I accidentally flung a Tupperware lid across the kitchen as I was putting up dishes, landing it ever so precisely in the chicken stir-fry I was cooking. Now that's talent! Anyway, Jerry supposed that I might have a genetic pre-disposition to clumsiness, and you only have to read this blog to consider that it might be true. But, in true Jerry fashion, he said that he thought it would be better to be fat and happy than to continue to be thin with the awful discomfort I had in Farmington. I'm glad he thinks, that, but I am still going to strive to be 10 pounds lighter in Oklahoma. . . for now.