My running program is going great. Aside from the fact that my right hip is doing very strange things and I could hardly walk all day Saturday, I feel good. But the thought of tomorrow makes me shake in my boots. You see, all last week I did 2 minutes of walking for every one minute of running. No biggie. But tomorrow, I have to do 2 full minutes of running and only one minute of walking. To all of you, this may sound like no big deal. In fact, I know a few of you blog readers who have run entire marathons. 2 minutes of running is a marathon to me. I'm so nervous. If I never write on this blog again, you'll know that those 2-minute increments did me in. Either that or my right hip. Bad combination.
I also must record one thing I have been thinking about this evening. One thing that I hate about myself. My sisters used to call me "BP," which stands for Bottomless Pit. This nickname is totally spot-on. I eat more than anyone I know. Tonight we had my gorgeous, skinny, beauty-queen friend Melanie over for dinner. We had a full meal of cumin pork chops with avocado salsa with black beans and rice, followed by a dessert of cream puffs. After that, Andrew and Melanie both said they were stuffed. I had eaten more than both of them (possibly combined?) and I wasn't close to being stuffed, so I kept my mouth shut and inwardly chastised myself for being such a bottomless pit.
After Melanie left and we put the kids to bed, I went downstairs to do the dishes. The cream puffs we had for dessert were sitting out, and a few of them still needed to be stuffed with the cream. So I stuffed them, ate one more, and put them away in the fridge. Then I saw the delicious avocado salsa sitting there. I know avocadoes don't keep well, and I LOVE that salsa, and I didn't want it to go to waste...so I went upstairs again to ask Andrew if he wanted to eat it with me. He said the phrase that makes me feel like a cow: "I can't eat any more. I'm stuffed." I rolled my eyes, stomped downstairs, and sat on the couch with a magazine and a bag of chips...and finished the bowl of salsa. Now am I stuffed? Nope. I'm going to stop eating, but I'm not full. What is wrong with me? Why can't I be one of those girls who eats like a bird and graciously says after 3 bites, "I'm stuffed!" and have it be true.
Maybe those 2 minutes of running will be good for me after all.
P.S. Leighton is 4 months old today!