Pieces of Anna

At the end of September, I sat down with my journal and wrote down two goals for myself. I'm not talking about New Year's resolutions type goals - that would be setting myself up for inevitable failure. I've tried those resolution types before. They always follow the same trajectory. In January, I am all excited about my newly established goals, just itching to get started. By February, I am congratulating myself on keeping up with my goals thus far, while a small but definite thought begins to gestate in my subconscious that tells me this won't last much longer. By mid-March, I am already dragging my feet, dreading the hour of the day, the day of the week that I have to spend on pursuing this never-ending goal. By April, I pretty much quit and by May, even the guilt quietly subsides. Basically, I feel like this . (I know that link has been going around the internet forever now, but it's totally relevant and you should check it out if you haven't seen it yet and...

Two days ago, I came home after work, popped in a workout DVD, and exercised for thirty minutes. Let me explain how huge of an accomplishment that is. When it comes to exercise, I could be best described as a lazy, lethargic sloth. No matter how many resolutions I make to incorporate exercise of any form into my life on a regular basis, I inevitably fall off the wagon, every time. As a result, I've had years of practice of coming up with perfectly reasonable excuses to keep my butt firmly planted on the couch. Here is a sample: "Morning workout? No way that's happening. I am not a morning person. In fact, I'm not even functional until about one p.m." "Lunch-time exercise? And what am I going to do after that, stink for the rest of the day? Besides, lunch time is for eating!" "After work, before dinner workout? Hmm, well that would be nice, except that I get ravenously hungry around four p.m., and by the time I get home, all I can think about is ...