counting to…twenty

I started counting calories and steps on my phone app last week and it was one of the most annoying and demotivating activities I’ve undertaken. Okay, it’s not even in the top 5, but those are things I won’t talk about on the Internet.

Number one, counting calories makes me think about what I put in my mouth, and that’s good. I am sure that I did a better job meal planning and making my meager allowance count. But it also makes me obsess about what I put in my mouth, and that’s not cool. I don’t want to live a life where I count out twelve raw almonds or turn down a cookie because it will ruin my day. 

I walked into the kitchen at work today and someone was toasting a croissant and I almost fainted at the heavenly aroma. Then I went and ran 3 miles on the treadmill and had to eat a Lean Cuisine and I just thought, fuck this. 

I’m also a calorie liar. I don’t really want to know what my choices add up to so I frequently “forget” to count that glass of wine or the impact of cleaning up the rest of Miss L’s breakfast. 

I think it’s great that counting things made me park further afield in the parking lot and feeling pumped when I got to 10,000 steps and made me eat a more reasonable portion of something or eat a salad because my day’s nutrition breakdown was light on the veggies. But it’s not cool that I felt like I couldn’t get flavored oatmeal because it’s more calories, and I couldn’t eat a banana before my run because it’s 100 too many calories.

I need to think more about this. But in the meantime, I parked in the far lot when I picked L up, took a picture of the winter twilight, and got my 10,000 steps. 

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