7 Things (8/17-8/23). [Part I]

1. My Job.
Now that I’m working for two, I’ve been putting in a bunch of OT… which is good for my checkbook, but bad for my mental health. This week I clocked in 15 hours of OT. Everyday I go into work thinking, “I can do this. I can stick it out for a few more months. The money is good.” But by the end of the day, the only thought running through my head is “Kill, kill, kill.”

2. Sugar Rush.
One of the only perks of my job is that about once a month we get a free lunch. This week, we got two. That meant back to back days of ginormous dessert trays. If you know me (or my sister) at all, you know that us Kennedy Kids have no self-control when it comes to sweets. Growing up the cupboards were always stocked with snacks, and no dinner went without being followed by a tasty dessert. It’s not that we didn’t eat healthy, we did. But sometimes “healthy” was in reference to the portions and not the content. (We were also a family of “options.” My mom would suggest that my sister and I have should have apple slices or grapes for a snack. But instead, we would always “opt” for the Twizzlers or Cheez Balls.)

At work, I have the misfortune of working in the basement… right next to the break table. So with the dessert tray staring at me all day long, I had no option but to fall into my nasty old habits of feeding my inner fatty. For the curious, Wednesday’s dessert tray definitely trumped Tuesday’s dessert tray. Key lime tart. Fudgy peanut butter bar with dizzled goodness. And my personal favorite: chocolate dipped macaroon!

Since they were cut into smaller servings (therefore smushed all together in my stomach, they probably only equaled one dessert…) I normally wouldn’t feel so bad about eating all three. But considering that Dr. Boyfriend also happened to hand deliver a Magnolia Bakery cupcake to me at work that day, (which I made my co-worker split with me) I ended up feeling like this. But in my defense, some of my gluttonous actions can be blamed on stress eating. (See #1.)

3. Running.
After my sugar feeding frenzy earlier this week, I went for a very hard run both Wednesday and Saturday. I did my usual 4-5ish mile run through Central Park, but both times I upped my speed. Saturday I clocked in at 35 minutes, which means I was doing roughly 8 minute miles. Considering that I used to have to walk the mile run in grade school with all of the fat girls and the girls who wearing having “women prloblems,” I’m pretty proud of my accomplishment.

Helping my speed was my competitiveness. Thanks to the Summer Olympics, I now like to pretend that I am competing in a race against my other Central Park joggers. When I fly by someone who is walking, I feel really good about myself. I would never just up and quit like that, no matter how much pain I was in. But on the flip side, when someone whizzes past me, I tell myself that they just started the race. They’ll get tired and fizzle out soon enough, well before the finish line. Welcome to my world. Check your ego at that door.

4. My Sister.
My sister (who is very short and has not been blessed with luxuriously long gams like me) has put my running exploits to shame by completing a half marathon with her BF this weekend. The most I have ever run is just over 10 miles. They did 13… in front of a crowd! After the marathon she sent me a text that read, “We finished! I met death half way through the race but he said I could pull through. Now time 4 my couch and some magic pills! PS even my toes hurt.” I congratulated her and told her that I too was on the couch after a grueling morning of sleeping in, eating breakfast and watching TV. Her courage has inspired me to maybe one day gather up enough energy to do a google search for half marathons in NYC.