The Fiscal Diet

As I've mentioned in past posts, I’ve started training for a half marathon. And as with all my harebrained schemes, I first like to invest in various accessories to properly equip myself. “Retail before action” is my motto.

So I recently decided that I REALLY needed more capri pants for running. There was no way I could commence running in this heat (oh, the incessant heat!) without purchasing some new running capris. These capris were an essential element of my running wardrobe, and I was in desperate need of them.  Things appeared grim until I could acquire new capri pants.

I explained this pressing need to Mike. He appeared confused. “But sweetie, don’t you already have enough pants?” he asked, helpfully. Certainly not! He was surely mistaken. And how dare he question my need for new workout gear.

Then, during an expedition to my closet, I uncovered a treasure trove of workout pants. It turns out that I already owned eight pairs of capri running pants. Eight! Not including long running pants or running shorts, of course. Those I also had in spades.

This discovery was a bit sobering. And it was at this time that I began to wonder if I had a problem.

Maybe I should have recognized there was an issue when I was greeted by a new shipment from Amazon/Zappos/Gap/RueLaLa/Banana Republic/Endless every week. Or maybe I should have realized things were getting out of hand when I could no longer stuff any more clothes into the spare bedroom I’d turned into my closet. Or when I would discover various items of clothing lodged deep within my dresser drawers, with the tags still attached.  Or even the umpteenth time I bought an article of clothing, only to bring it home and realize I already owned the same exact item.

My name is Bridget and I’m a shopaholic.

So I’ve put myself on a fiscal diet. Specifically, I’ve decided not to buy any “things” for next few months. I’m on month two of said diet, and I’ve discovered something a bit unexpected. Now that I’ve decided I’m not going to buy anything, I feel, well, relieved. I don’t have to read the five million emails I get daily about new discounts and sales. I don’t have to spend hours trolling the internet for deals on things I don’t need. I don’t have to buy another ugly tank top that I’d never wear just because it is 70% off.

And as for all that money I’m saving by not buying things I don’t need? Well, don’t worry. I’ve already spent that on a honeymoon to Mexico. Because if there is one thing I CAN justify spending money on, it is white sand beaches and cocktails with my husband. And ten years from now when we look back at this time in our lives, I guarantee Mike and I will have better memories of our travels than we do of my capri pants. At least I will. Mike really likes capris.

BSHLB - 13.1 Miles to Go

I thought that it may be time to give an update on BSHLB (Best Shape of Her Life Bridget).

Well, luckily, you haven't missed much. I've been slowly trying to cut down on my ice cream intake (freeze-pops are healthy, right?) and increase the amount of veggies that I've been consuming (this was not difficult as previous consumption was at approximately zero). I've also started to move more. As in, actually working out.

Working out is a bit of a chore for me. Because I am, by nature, a woman of leisure. I've always thought I was born in the wrong era. I would be much better suited for Victorian sensibilities.

Strolling? Absolutely. I love a good stroll. Croquet anyone? Sure thing. Lawn tennis? Right up my alley. And all this while wearing a bustle and breaking for tea and small sandwiches every 20 minutes. Pure heaven.

Unfortunately, this is not the place in time in which I've found myself. Instead of strapping on ye olde corset, I'm expected to exert myself physically to maintain my girlish figure. This is unfortunate. Not only for me, but for all those that must witness my very pathetic attempts at physical activity. I am, in all athletic endeavors, a total spaz.

So this is why I turn to running as my go-to mode of fitness. I can put one foot in front of the other. I can do this without any scary equipment or balls flying at me. And I can do this at my own pace... i.e. extremely, almost incomprehensibly slowly. In fact, at my speed, I guess you don't call it running. You call it jogging. I believe it is jogging or yogging. It might be a soft "J". I'm not sure.

In order to ensure I continue my adventures in jogging, I signed up for the BAA Half Marathon today. And I have a running plan to prepare my withered muscles for the 13.1 miles in October. With one week down, I'm feeling pretty good about things. And the best part? I've somehow convinced Mike to sign up with me. So if things go really badly on that fateful day in October, he can carry me over the finish line.