Chutzpa! (It’s a Fun Word, and I Used It In a Sentence)

Q:  Oh, my dear, neglected blog, will you ever forgive me for temporarily abandoning you?

A: YES ’cause I don’t really give a shit that you’ve been away, but now that you’re back . . . Hey, girl!  Whatcha been up to?


I have the tendency, as a human being, to be what is best described as . . . overzealous.  I have very little free time as it is, and I choose to fill what free time I do have with . . . what is best described as . . . a lot.  In the past few months, I have gained traction at becoming even further behind with responding to pen pal letters.  In fact, I have not written a response letter since April.  I have zero traveling postcards via Postcrossing.  I have not picked up my knitting needles, flute, or guitar.  I have read less books in 2018 than in past years, and I have been writing only half-hearted (Goodreads) reviews, if I write one at all.  My gym time has dwindled, and I have not written, what I would consider a decent blog entry, in months.  Recently (recently as in just a handful of hours ago), I gave myself permission to give up some control.  Let me explain . . .

I love swap-bot; I run several groups, and I host a lot of swaps within said groups.  In addition to those swaps, I also host public swaps.  Without getting too in depth and too involved in the swap-bot jargon, being a founder and a host takes A LOT of work.  Frankly, if it doesn’t take a lot of your time and energy, then you’re probably not doing it right.  There are exceptions, I’m sure, which is why I have written “‘probably’ not doing it right” (or at the very least, not to the best of your ability).  Swap-bot, because I manage many groups and many swaps, and because I take deadlines very seriously, has been taking up the majority of my limited time.  I love devoting time to putting together quality swaps and creating happy mail, sending RAKs, etc., but the constant hosting and management responsibilities is a prime example of my overzealousness.  Note to self: just enjoy swap-bot, Amy, without taking on additional tasks.

I have missed so much all of the other things that provide me with a well-rounded and happy life.  So, I’ve reached out for assistance with hosting and founding my groups.  That is a big step in beginning to enjoy my multitude of hobbies again, albeit not the first one.  I have also decided that I will maintain X number of pen pal relationships.  I do not need 50+ pen pals to deem this a worthwhile hobby.  In fact, much like my IRL relationships, I much prefer to maintain a few very close and meaningful connections over double-digit acquaintances.  I will continue to send postcards via Postcrossing, but it is OKay to have a handful traveling at a time; I do not need to sit and send 25+ in one sitting.  I will continue to organize my favorite postcards into category specific albums, but I no longer feel the need to scan them into Flikr as well.  Overall, I am working on reigning in my overeagerness and proneness to do ev-er-y-thing full boar; moderation is key, even in regards to the undertakings I love and enjoy.

The first step I took to ensure a newfound commitment to creativity and creating . . . I cleaned my “home office” and my craft room.  My, what I also refer to as workspaces, were beyond cluttered.  I found it nearly impossible to focus on anything, let alone follow through with a hobby task (writing, knitting, reading, painting, whatever it may be), with supplies scattered on the floors, piles of stuff scattered about, half started projects stacked upon one another and set aside, etc.  So, during my much needed staycation last week, I got my spaces squared away.  Gone is the anxiety I previously felt when I would tackle these particular cleaning and organizational tasks, attempting to get the job(s) done, all at once.  Now, when I open the door to either of the me time rooms, I feel exhilarated to be in there, ready to sit at my desk to write a letter or a postcard, able to find the extras I want to include in an outgoing swap, and capable of focusing on whatever venture my heart desires.  Speaking of (errr, writing about) other ventures and my heart’s desire . . .

With the (work) gym closed, my training and efforts to workout have taken a downturn.  I am fortunate in that I have a well equipped gym in my attached garage / basement, but I certainly need to work on the discipline aspect of using it.  I have grown so accustomed to busting out an amazing workout before noon, which is ideal for me because the workout is done for the day, and I can devote my post work hours to the other adulting that must be done.  However, there was once a time when I only used my home gym; I was once willing to put myself first, before all else, and I need to tap into that energy again, guilt free.  Although I have not been logging the gym hours that I normally do as of late, snow shoveling and construction on my rental unit have at least kept my stamina on point.

As of yesterday, I am officially registered for 2019’s Maine (half) marathon.  I have also decided that when the application becomes available, I will be applying to be a 2019 race ambassador.  (Here we go with the overzealousness again!).  However, I made my decision to (definitely) apply for the ambassadorship in October, exactly a month from today, actually.  On October 28th, I ran in the Poland Spring Marathon Kickoff 5-Miler in New York City!  Since I was sporting my 2018 Maine Marathon shirt, multiple people approached me and asked about the Maine Marathon.  I was considering applying for an ambassadorship before this date, mainly because I envision myself as a valuable resource in that I can put others at ease.  In anticipation of my first half marathon, I was terrified and nervous and jittery on top of excited and proud.  I’m a classic, “If I can do it, you can too!” example, and I sense that I have the ability to motivate, encourage, and calm others who may be skeptical or hard on themselves.

BUT . . . more about New York City!  For those of you who follow me on Instagram (@idiosyncratic_unicorn), you have likely already seen my gushing post, brimming with pride in myself, as well as excitement at meeting Peter Ciaccia.  Briefly, I was so so so SO very proud of myself for doing this run.  Much like my IG post reads, my delight was mainly because I ran in an out-of-state event.   When I first started entering 5Ks, I never anticipated that I would have the chutzpa to do one alone, let alone in another state.  I also never imagined that I would increase my distance from the 5K, but oh, how I have evolved as a runner!  Running has been so positive for me, not only in regards to my health and physical appearance, but in my overall confidence (not related to body image but related to my shyness).

I have gone from whether or not a friend is running with me as a determining factor for race entry, to participating in whatever the heck race I want to.  When you are as shy, introverted, and introspective as I am, it is daunting to go it alone.  I was also pleased beyond measure because I ran this particular 5-miler in under an hour, walking only to drink water (I’m not coordinated enough to run and drink without choking), and I stopped briefly for a photo with Peter Ciaccia.  Approaching (and taking a picture with) someone I have never met before – also giant strides that required a lot of prowess on my behalf.  SO, it is these experiences that solidified my decision at becoming (or trying to become) a Maine Marathon ambassador.  I think this program will not only benefit me but benefit from me.  For those of you who do not follow my IG, I’ve thrown in some pictures from the NYC Poland Spring Marathon Kickoff at the end.

Suffice it to say, I do suppose that I am on the correct path to eliminating undue stress and anxiety in my daily routine, all the while rediscovering time management and diversity in my efforts.

Cicciarun2run

 

 

 

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Goals: JDD / FISHMO

WARNING: There will be naughty words; they will be in the FISHMO portion of this entry.  Where that will end up being, I do not know, but you’ve been warned!

Beach to Beacon.  Beach to mother effing Beacon.  (That’s not where it gets naughty, BTW) . . . or should I say BTB?  Haaayyyyooooooo.  So, Beach to Beacon is kind of a big deal.  (I stole some info. from one of the utmost reliable interweb resources (Wikipedia), and it’s below should you want to read about it).

The Beach to Beacon 10K is a 10-kilometer (6.2 mi) road running event that takes place along the coastline of Cape Elizabeth, Maine. It begins at Crescent Beach State Park and ends at the Portland Head Light in Fort Williams Park.

Starting out as mainly a local event, athletes from all over the U.S. and various parts of the world now participate in the annual event, including some world-class distance runners, including Olympic Marathon Silver medalists Catherine Ndereba and Meb Keflezighi, as well as Chicago Marathon winner Robert Kipkoech Cheruiyot. It was founded by U.S. women’s marathon runner Joan Benoit Samuelson, who in 1984, won the first ever women’s Olympic marathon. 1998 was the first year that the event was held and over 3000 runners participated in the race. The event was sponsored by then People’s Heritage Bank, which changed parent companies. Now the event is formally known as the TD Bank Beach to Beacon 10k. 

Beach to Beacon now draws approximately 6,000 runners from all across the nation.  Actually, runners from all around the world travel to Maine for this race.  I could be wrong, but I am fairly certain that 2018’s event sold out in approximately 45 minutes.  45 minutes to sell 4,000ish spots!  (Cape Elizabeth residents are permitted to register the day before B2B opens for all, and some of the 6,000ish spots are saved for a lottery).  You’re lucky!  You know why you’re lucky?  Because you kinda sorta know someone who got a spot.  Yeah, ME!

So, B2B, according to their official website, is in 3 days, 15 hours, and 5 minutes at the time of this writing (13:06hrs on 07/31/2018).  I am filled with various feels . . .

First, I am proud.  I am proud because I am trying something completely and utterly out of my comfort zone.  I’ve run a 10K before but not one so official.  I have to travel to a congested, touristy area that I have never been to before, and the crowd alone will be enough to send my anxiety into overdrive.  6,000+ runners, oodles volunteers, and gaggles of spectators.  That’s a lot of people, and at about an ounce of anxiety per person, yeah, that’s quite a bit of anxiousness all bottled up inside of me.

Second, I’m nervous.  It is going to be humid as humid can be on Saturday, and I am one who struggles with heat and especially humidity.  I was (somewhat) accepting of this weather factoid until the comfort of my personal hydration system was ripped from my tightly clenched phalanges.  I have no doubt that there are water stations along the 10K, but the fact remains that one of my comforts has been taken from me and is now null and void.

Third, I’m self-doubtful.  From my perspective, I see 5,999 badass runners, and then there’s me.  This is just my self-doubt kicking in, and as we know from many, many entries back, these are thoughts I entertain before any event that I do, big or small.

Fourth, I’m (already) tired.  In order to be at one of the shuttle bus stations by 0600hrs, I need to leave my house by 0400hrs.  To leave by 0400hrs, I need to wake up between 0230 and 0300hrs.  However, this is the present-time Amy who isn’t all hopped up on the day-of excitement and adrenaline.  I know when my alarm trills bright (or lack thereof) and early on Saturday, I will wake up without much effort – I always do.

Lastly, I’m determined!  When the self-doubt creeps in, when the threat of heat stroke enters my brain, when I feel pre-tired, I simply do one thing to combat it all . . . I remember.

I remember all of the years that I felt:

  • not ready
  • not good enough
  • too slow
  • too big
  • too scared
  • too nervous
  • too anxious

Most of all, I remember how I felt last year, at this time, when I watched the news and saw all of the runners at the start line.  I remember watching the piece about the twenty-three year old runner who collapsed, due to heat stroke, right before the finish line and another runner picked him up and helped him finish.  I remember how disappointed I was in myself that I didn’t even . . . TRY.

So, despite how unprepared I feel right now, how hot, sweaty, sore, and tired I will be, I am going to try.  Doing just that puts me leaps and bounds ahead of where I was at, mentally and physically, in August of 2017.  I have already given myself permission to walk a few steps if / as I need to.  I’m not in it the win it; honestly, I never do an event with the intent to place.  I have very, very basic goals:

  • just don’t die (JDD)
  • just finish
  • think FISHMO

Ahh, the FISHMO . . .

The FISHMO state of mind:

Fuck it!  Shit happens, move on.

And as long as I simply try . . . it doesn’t get much more FISHMO than that.

. . . 3 days, 18 hours, 4 minutes.

 

Mainely A Stereotype

I reside in a small town.  Not only do I live in a small town, I live in THE stereotypical small town.  Think: Mayberry combined with Cheers (yeah, the bar) ’cause my residential township is quaint, peaceful, and the locals know everybody’s name (exception: seasonal tourists, but many of the locals are nosy / social so they know the tourists’ names too!).  So, for the sake of my privacy, all the while giving my home a name, I shall refer to this quaint land of familiarity as Cheersberry . . .  or Maycheers . . .  or . . .  ORRRRR . . . I will use these interchangeably.

I have various run routes established.  There’s one route that I like to do either very early in the morning or later in the evening because 1.5 miles in, I reach a very small beach, and to witness the sunrise or sunset there is breathtakingly beautiful.  Plus, there’s the added bonus that if it’s a wicked hot day, one can jump in the lake for a little swim!  The picture I have does not depict the rise or set of the sun, but it’s still a glorious view, even at midday.  Also along this route are fellow Cheersberry residents who have become familiar with me and will oftentimes whoop words of encouragement or offer me water.  The Friends on the 4th 5K is mapped along “downtown,” but there is a portion of the run that is residential; many people sit on their lawns to cheer and lightly spray runners with their garden hoses – this is my favorite!  The garden hose incidence is less frequent during one of my “regular” runs, one that isn’t a big to-do / event, which makes it even more special if it should so happen, and once in a while, it does.  Small town livin’ is the tops!  . . . at least for eight months of the year.

Narrows

Summer is now in full swing, and the tourists have come from near and far!  Adding to the small town stereotype, the locals are not always so fond of the tourists, and by this, I mean I am not so fond of the tourists.  The environment changes when the out-of-towners flock to Maycheers in gaggles.  Just last week, I was pushed around and rudely cut in front of at the farm stand, and all of the commotion was caused by non locals.  When running, the out of state cars do not move over to share the road; in the last few days alone, my Radin and I have had several close calls with vehicular modes of transportation.

Yearly, I am prepared for the sudden change in environment at the grocery store and other shopping venues.  What is typically a friendly and patient setting becomes a climate of superiority and brouhaha.  When it’s the off-season, patrons of the grocery store chatter with one another as they wait in line, say “excuse me” if they need to reach something that is in another’s personal space, and offer to help those who may need helping.  Now?  Now, it’s a free for all.  Overall, the from-awayers are impatient, crashing their shopping carts into others because they’re ceaselessly using their cell phones, they loudly insinuate and make certain that we, the townies, are aware that their vacation time is valuable and that they cannot be bothered to wait, and the number of people that aggressively invade personal space is utterly galling.  My intent is not to generalize because I am certain that there are just as many delightful vacationers in our area, but I’m just indicating that the poor behavior is noticed.  I can adjust to the sudden influx of strong personalities, but what I tend to have difficulty acclimating to are nightly fireworks and unleashed dogs.

I love fireworks, but I much prefer them when they are appropriate.

  • Q: So, when are they appropriate?
  • A: Holidays such as the 4th of July or New Year’s, and on Friday or Saturday nights should the desire be to launch the works of fire just for the pure sake of doing so.

I wish beyond all measure that my town ordinance did not change, that fireworks were still banned and illegal.  The nightly fireworks wreak havoc for the wildlife, not to mention the pets who are terrified of the loud noises and riddled with anxiety over the ruckus.  *I am not a parent, other than fur babies, but I imagine that it is exceedingly arduous for those with babies, toddlers, and young children.*  The late night annoyances are also not appreciated by those of us who get up at 0400.  I understand that many of the temporary residents are on vacation, and I acknowledge that they should enjoy their vacation time, their relaxation time but not at the expense of those who live here full-time, year-round.  Cheerberry is not The City That Never Sleeps; we sleep . . . or at least, we used to.  I’m not requesting that the fireworks and drunken carousing cease altogether, I just ask for the commotion to wrap up at a sensible time.

Finally, leash your dogs!  How do I know that the offenders of the leash laws are out-of-towners’ dogs?  Just like with the humans, the locals, especially those of us who are actively outside and running about the town, have familiarly with the local yokel puppers.  Sunday evening, I took Radin for a long walk.  *Radin and I are not able to run together because we are equally clumsy and end up in calamitous, though comical, conundrums.  So, when Radin accompanies me, it’s for the slower paced meanderings.*  About a mile from home, during our return expedition, an unleashed dog bolted toward us.  I have no doubt that this dog was friendly, but my Radin and I were recently attacked by an unleashed, not-so-friendly dog, in our own yard.  It is fair to assert that Radin and I are now a little suspicious and mistrustful of foreign dogs that come darting at us.  Stranger danger is real, folks!  I should note that Radin does not get along remarkably well with other dogs as a rule, and because I know this about him, he is always harnessed, leashed, and kept close to me.

During our aforementioned adventure, I pulled Radin close to me and commanded him to stand between my legs.  Because my thighs are much stronger than my arms, I know that I can hold him still and protect him that way.  (Hey, I’ve been credited with saving his life during our attack, so I know that I could (and would) do so again).  We began to simultaneously walk backwards, taking slow and steady steps, but the dog continued to dart toward us.  To my horror, the unleashed dog scampered into the road and into oncoming traffic.  Now, I don’t want problems to arise between this dog and my own, but I also don’t want to see harm befall this visiting dog.  I’m typically the person pulling over and rescuing dogs (and cats and turtles and whatever else I find in the road that needs an assist).  Meanwhile, drivers are annoyed because traffic is slow going – Radin and I were nearly hit by two or three vehicles that refused to move over!  Out of approximately seven passing motorists, only one man stopped to help us.  Coincidentally, the other six vehicles had out of state and out of country (Canada) registration plates, respectively.  The man who stopped to help me, he was a Mainer.  Summer folks, enjoy your stay in Vacationland, but please, consider the residents of your interim abode.

. . . I don’t want to be the stereotypical, vacationist hating, country bumpkin so please, do your part in not turning me into a stereotype . . . just sayin’.

Aversion to April

I may be developing an aversion to the month of April, not the giraffe.  I find giraffes to be particularly delightful.  But I digress . . .

I took April 13th and 14th off from work with the intention of, for lack of better words, getting my shit together.  The getting my shit together umbrella was to include: start running again, get all the housework caught up, catch up on swap-bot swaps, return sendsomething.net mail, catch up on pen pal letters, get the grocery shopping done, etc.  So, what happened?  For the most part, I nailed it!  Thursday the 13th – Easter Sunday I achieved my Fitbit goal each day, the house looked as immaculate as it can during projects season, and I finished the perler portrait I created for my best friend.  I was also a snail mail creating machine.  And then . . . Monday happened . . .  dun dun dun (that is to be read to the tune of ominous music).

During the warmer months, I become far more active.  Therefore, I sweat considerably more.  So, I tried a new facial cleanser that would help combat all the wonderful side effects of sweating heavily.  Well, Nicolas Cage and John Travolta have got nothing on me (this is a Face/Off reference for all of you pop culture gurus).  The purifying cleanser, its accompanying renewing toner, and the repairing lotion caused a severe allergic reaction; my eyes were swollen closed for several days, and it essentially burned my face off.  My face is now as smooth as a brand new baby’s bum, but that is because my original face sloughed off throughout the week.  I missed the entire week of work because not only was I considerably hideous in appearance, my level of discomfort was . . . well, uncomfortable.  Throw in the side effects of a body pumped chock-full of Benadryl and Claritin . . . that was . . . not what I would consider a fantastic experience either.  SO, despite all of my efforts to become and remain physically active and productive, it was short lived.

Today is Sunday the 23rd, and I return to work tomorrow.  I was gung-ho for today because I fully intended to get some raking done and add some miles to my ASICS.  That was until the most recent mishap . . .

Just moments ago, my parents’ boxer, Gracie, got a case of what we have lovingly dubbed “the zoomies.”  Zoomies def: when a boxer runs and runs and runs, at full speed, in circles around you.  It’s what Gracie does, especially during spring, and it is normally quite manageable, but today, she strayed from the circular pattern and tugged so hard on her leash that  I was down before I even knew I was going down.  Nothing on my body is broken, and my face was not harmed, but I do have some lovely parting prizes just for playing.  On my left hand, my palm and pinky and ring fingers are . . . torn open.  My left elbow, right knee, ankles, and toes are scraped and bloody.  The grand prize, however, is my left leg.  From knee to shin is a compilation of scrapes, skinless patches, and bloodiness.  I shall be the proud owner of some bad-ass bruises in a matter of hours.

Now may be an appropriate time to begin concocting a fiblet about a roller derby  match gone awry.  I mean, getting these injuries from one of the gentlest, most loving dogs I have ever known is just the sort of irony that quite accurately depicts what it is like to be me, but let’s be honest . . . it makes for a rather anticlimactic story.  The point of this entire reminiscence with the past week and a half of my life?  No matter how “together” I get myself, and no matter how hard I work toward goals, small and large alike, these sorts of things constantly creep up, or in this case, ZOOM in.  So, I may not end up going running today because . . . well, OW.  But I’m not discouraged.  Once I picked myself up off the pavement and took an inventory of all of my still fully intact bones, I laughed!  I laughed and laughed and laughed . . . because this is what it is like to be me, and after 32 years, it’s better to accept that this is just the way it is and likely always will be.

Life can only knock me down, but it cannot hold me down.  It is up to me to get back up. 🙂

SO, perhaps a slow, gentle walk with my own dog is in the near future.  I can still get out there, I just need to modify my original intentions.  🙂

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Scale Down

From the time I began my journey of weight loss, traveling along the path toward a goal weight, I have tortured myself with the scale.  Perhaps “tortured” is too strong of a word, but there are indeed some days where it has felt as such.

For the month of March, I put my scale away.  I made it the entire month without stepping on that evil number machine!  Well, 28 days to be exact, but that is a month if you round up.  (Hey, math is hard!).

Unfortunately, since I ever so reluctantly placed my feet upon the scale nine days ago, I have succumbed to my former habits, my previous ways.  Old habits being weighing myself in the morning and again at night.  The rational portion of my brain knows that this is completely and utterly counterproductive if not self-defeatist.

The good news is, though I have been lackadaisically counting calories and spent most of February and March nearly sedentary, I maintained my weight.  The bad news is, I clearly have some self-control issues, revolving around my scale, that I need to address.  The mediocre news is that I am now weighing three pounds heavier than I was the day prior.  Again, the rational portion of my brain knows that I did not gain three pounds during the overnight hours so I will not become overly distraught. The bad news is that I have more hard work, far more hard work than I had anticipated, ahead.

The good,  the mediocre, and the bad news: I have 16 pounds until I reach my goal weight.  Why this is good: 16 pounds compared to what I’ve already lost is definitely doable; it’s so feasible!  Why this is mediocre:  16 is a higher number than I wanted to be faced with, especially four months into this year.  However, I know that with some newfound dedication, I can reach my personal finish line.  I just need to tap into my previous level of commitment.  Why this is bad:  I find that I am discouraged, and there is a very real piece of my personality that tends to stop trying, to give up, when I am discouraged and / or disappointed in myself.

Step 1: scale down.  It is time to put my scale away, yet again, and stop defining myself and my progress based on its numbers.  The scale shall not make an appearance for the remainder of April.

Step 2: put myself first.  My most successful months were those when I put myself before all else.  The housework, the cooking, and all other adulting demands waited until after I spent my time in the gym.  I have to reaffirm that putting myself first is indeed OKay.

Step 3: adjust goal.  I originally strove to be at my goal weight by my birthday.  But now?  Now, I will be happy and content if I reach my goal weight by 2017’s Tough Mountain, which is July 29th.

. . . I can do this!

Picture Perfect

Over the course of the past few years, I have become the anti-photograph type.  I am that pesky individual who covers her face with her hands when a camera is around, demands that pictures be reviewed and / or approved before the photographer even thinks about posting the candid on Facebook, Instagram, and whatever other media sharing / social platform exists, but mostly, I just avoid cameras altogether.  I think I experienced one too many shocks when looking at my own photos, that disbelief and utter disgust when faced with my own face.  “That’s me!?”

I run several 5K events, 10K events, and obstacle courses each summer and autumn, but I expend most of my energy worrying about the pictures, spending copious amounts of time avoiding the cameras, the GoPros, and the seemingly endless sea of cell phones and selfies.  I want to resolve to stop this behavior for 2017’s events.  Admittedly, I did far better during my last two events of 2016 (Color Me Rad (5K) and The Dempsey Challenge (10K)).  I am aware that there remain a plethora of pictures floating around on the event websites, but I am moving on from those, and I will no longer worry about their existence.  I am taking control by including a handful of photos I have recently uncovered.

So, from this point forward, it is my goal to be in at least one photo, taken at each event that I do.  After all, I should be proud of my participation, not hiding from the photographic evidence of it.

Head Hunger Games

Probably the biggest battle in my weight war is what I refer to as “head hunger.”  I’m an emotional eater.  I’m a bored eater.  I’m a sad eater and angry eater, which clearly fall most appropriately under the emotional eater umbrella.  I’m a PMS eater, and most of all, I am a STRESS EATER.

So, what exactly is this head hunger?  Head hunger encompasses all of those times when you’re not hungry, yet you find yourself rooting around in the cupboard for a snack or you’re elbow deep in a chip bag before you even realize that you’ve opened the bag.  Eventually, you realize that your body doesn’t need nor want the food you’re consuming, but something drives you to eat it despite a glimmer of rational thinking regarding your snacking.  That is head hunger, and it’s insidious.

When I started: working out, becoming a runner, eating healthier, drinking more water, and sleeping for more than a handful of hours a night, my body began to change.  Although the afore outlined is hard work, the most difficult task has been changing my thinking, especially in regards to this so-called head hunger.

My biggest battle today is against stress eating head hunger.  I do not feel hunger, and therefore, I do not want to eat.  However, I am currently experiencing a lot of stress, and this is what I mean about the HH being insidious – it’s an old habit, yet the urge to “eat my feelings” is prominent, sneaking into my psyche the moment it saw the slightest opportunity.  Tomorrow may prove to be a pivotal moment in my career, my life.  Unfortunately, due to the nature of my field, I cannot expand beyond that, but anyone who has worked hard for something: something BIG, something MEANINGFUL, something IMPORTANT knows the amount of stress, pressure, and self-doubt that accompanies said work.  In my case, this has been a nearly year long process so I am riddled with the aforementioned (stress, pressure, and self-doubt) nearly twelve-fold.

So yeah, I’m engaged today in a battle against the SEHH.  That battle alone is difficult enough, but to make the battle ever more difficult because hey, it’s Monday after all, there are approximately 100 beautiful cupcakes, slathered with vibrantly colored buttercream frosting, upstairs just screaming for consumption.  The cupcakes always call the most loudly to the cupcake connoisseur!  I keep reminding myself that I will feel better for working through the cravings, the head hunger, than I will feel if I succumb.  In my corner: positive thinking, the will to succeed, the drive to overcome self-sabotage, and it’s still Lent.

. . . I’ve got this!