Resolutions don’t work for me. I have a hard time following rules about doing or not doing something every day or meeting weekly quotas. Should I stop hitting the snooze button every morning? Totally. Should I run three times a week? Yes. But at the end of the year, what would that really accomplish? Not much.
Resolutions are like tactics to me – a means to an end. Something I do in hope of reaching a goal. I’m not going to waste my time explaining my methods, but I will tell you my goals.
1. Get published.
A little bit of a cheat because this is most likely happening – albeit on a very small scale – next month. (Full story to come.) But I don’t want this goal to be one and done in January. I want to do it once a month. More than that. As much as I can. Wherever I can. The wheels are in motion and I want to keep them turning.
Over the summer, I decided not to participate in the aerial showcase at the end of the workshop I attended in Denver. I made a lot of excuses about why I didn’t perform: I was too old. No one was there to see me. I needed a snack. Those are all true, but really I was just afraid to mess up in front of an audience. No more of that. It’s fine to do something just for the pure enjoyment of it, but I know I’ll work harder if I’m on the hook to show someone what I learned.
3. Run a half marathon in under 2 hours.
Two hours. Not two hours and six minutes. Not two hours and a little bit. Two. Hours.
I am so close already on this one – but just haven’t been able to make it happen. The problem always comes around mile 10. I can keep my pace up until that point, but then I just putter out. No amount of GU can save me.
“Are you doing the half marathon in Philly again?” my brother asked me over Christmas.
“Why? Do you want to run it with me?”
“No, but I’ll watch you do it.”
That would actually be perfect because this past year he perched himself at mile 11 and waved a fleece Eagles blanket and cheered for me like I was in the damn Olympics. It was just the kick in the pants I needed and when I see him this year, I’m going to be prepared to fucking hit it. Miles 11-13, you’re about to get served.
That’s all I got. No weight loss goals or vying for a promotion here. No “finding a nice man” or starting a family. No soul-searching trips to Asia or learning how to cook a duck. I’m hitting snooze on all those because I need to do these others first.