So, thus far, posting things to my blog in attempts to make myself accountable has not really worked out as well as I'd hoped. I thought that maybe if I posted my goals, I'd feel some sort of pressure to achieve them. But as always, any sort of pressure just makes me rebel against myself. Telling myself that I HAVE to do something is as good as ensuring that I will not do it.
I'm sort of tragically ambitious. I love lists, and plans, and schedules. And I think big. Grand impressive goals and achievements. Self-challenges. A life of purpose. For years I've made these outlines and charted my to-dos and swore that oh yes, yes I will. But you know, in the end, I don't do anything. All the activities I put on my Google Calendar get deleted one by one as I sink into being totally fucking lazy.
Can I claim this as sort of mental illness? Can I get drugs for it? Or a slap in the face?
That Seven Day challenge didn't happen for a month. I did not run once nor do any of my weights DVDs in July. I have not cooked, much. I've barely picked up a book. Tech detox, meh. I make these goals, and I have every intention of following through on them, and then I just...don't.
What's up with that?
I have a plan for August. I was going to keep it to myself, so if I fail miserably there is no one to judge me, but what the hell, right? Let us share.
In July, I made it to yoga 11 times, which averages out to about 3x/week which is not terrible. In August, I plan to be active 18 days out of the month, whether it's yoga, walking/running, or a Zumba class with the deal I just bought to a dance studio.
I have scheduled it all out, and have some rest days already penciled in (like, you know, when I'm hungover in Vegas). Then I've allotted myself 5 "skip days" to use as I choose throughout the month, when I'm feeling particularly lazy or if life gets in the way. (Life never gets in the way, I have no life.)
So far this month, I'm right on track. IE, I went to yoga yesterday.
GIMME A GOLD STAR AND A COOKIE.