Three rules.

Eventually, this blog is going to get ridiculously interesting. At some point, when I'm a marathon runner with a kitchen full of homemade bread and artisanal pickles, posting daily pictures of my chiseled abs and backyard chickens, you, dear reader, are going to be really happy that you started reading early.

Of course, I don't make my own bread right now. And I don't buy fancy pickles, either--I get whatever sweet gherkins happen to be on sale, and I wrap them in swiss cheese and wash them down with Jack Daniels. I can barely make it through a 5K without stopping to tie my shoes three or four or 19 times so I don't keel over and die from overexertion. And I don't own a single chicken.

But all that's about to change, one sweaty run at a time.

See, I used to be fat. Like, way fatter than I am right now. And for a year, in grad school, I made all my own meals, and I went to the gym every goddamn day, and I whittled myself down to a gangly size 4. And that lasted for about another year until I remembered that I like reading waaaaaay more than running and I like eating about ten million times better than not eating. Now I'm a mostly-sedentary size 10 schoolteacher and I've got no energy to do anything at all except lie around and read trashy novels and excoriate myself for my own lack of motivation.

Conversations that I have with myself mostly go like this:

"Man, it would be really nice to start cooking again. Maybe join a co-op. Get some fresh fruit. Make some jam or something."
"That's only cute when skinny people do it. You'd just be a fat girl. With jam."
"Well, maybe I'll go for a run today! I'll take Terrible Dog and---"
"---what, lumber down the road where everyone can laugh at you? Okay, run then. Shuffle away. But wait until it's dark."

Then I feel depressed and get in bed, where I read for three hours and polish off a pint of pork fried rice. 

Recently I've realized that I'm mistakenly blaming my lack of motivation and general sense of malaise on these extra 15 pounds. It's an easy excuse: "Oh, of course I can't write/get ahead on my lesson plans/get dressed. I didn't even run today. And I can't run, 'cause I'm too fat, so I guess I can't do any of that other stuff, either." But I can't keep doing that, because I'm sick and tired of myself and I'm about to turn 30 and I've realized that I am incredibly. fucking. boring.

So. Here are the three main rules that I'm going to start following in an effort to improve my physical health (and, in a roundabout way, my mental health, too):

1. Eat less. (That means no empty calories, no fast food, no deep-frying my empanadas.)

2. Exercise more. (At least once a day for 30 minutes, and I'll run if I'm not injured and I've got an accessible sports bra.)

3. No mixers. (I'm not going to give up drinking, but I've got to stop swilling my meals.)

Additionally, I promise the following:

1. To write at least once a day twice a week, even if I'm just updating this silly little blog with something along the lines of "drank 15 margaritas. Died."

2. To be straightforward and honest about my progress---or lack of progress.

3. To absolutely not, under any circumstances, turn this blog into a confessional or an autobiographical pity party.

And in honor of my very first blog post, I'm going to toddle out and go for one of the shuffling jogs I like to call a "run." Then I'm going to come back and finish off the last of the sangria, since I won't be making any more.

But first? A nap.

And maybe a little more of that fried rice.