I am not planning to lose
pounds this year.
It's not that I couldn't stand
to lose the weight: I definitely could. So could David. (We may have
ridden like Team Estrogen, during the last six months of 2002, but
we ATE like Team Pizza Hut.) I have no plans to
completely deconstruct our eating habits, or to start taking the stairs
instead of the elevator, or to do whatever else it takes to squeeze
myself into a pair of Size 12 Levi's by summer.
I'm not even planning to give
I don't plan to work harder on
*FootNotes* this year: to make it more consistent again, to make it
more fun and more readable, to make it a worthwhile use of bandwidth. I
don't plan to set my alarm back an extra twenty minutes, every morning
before work, in order to carve out a little extra writing time. I don't
plan to write The Great American Novel in 2003.
(Or The Great American
Magazine Article, or The Great American Internet Journal Entry ... or
even The Great American Grocery List, frankly.)
I have no mileage goals this
year. As a matter of fact, I have no riding-related goals of any kind.
Neither does David. We don't plan to upgrade me to cleated bicycle
shoes as soon as we pay off some of the Christmas bills, or to go back
to Sacramento and finish riding The American River Trail with Bev
before it gets too hot, or to do our first 60-miler by the end of
Needless to say, I don't plan
to ride 2,003 miles in 2003.
Other things I don't plan to do
in 2003: I don't plan to cut back on caffeine. I don't plan to ask my
boss for more challenging job assignments around the office. I don't
plan to start answering my e-mail the moment it lands in my mailbox. I
don't plan to get my Driver's License this year.
I don't plan to be a
better mother: the kind of mother who throws solutions at a problem
instead of throwing money.
I don't plan to wear more jewel tones.
don't plan to be nicer to waitresses and telemarketers and people who
stand right outside my office building smoking cigarettes at 7:37 a.m.
every goddamn morning. (OK: I don't plan to be nicer to waitresses,
anyway.) I don't plan to call my mother more often. I don't plan to get
seven and a half hours of sleep every night, or to quit picking at my
cuticles when I'm feeling socially overwhelmed, or even to remain sober
for any longer than the end of today.
I don't plan to forgive more and apologize less. I don't plan to pay
off my credit cards. I don't plan to finish all the unread books piled
on my side of the bed. I don't plan to get up every morning and look at
myself in the mirror and say "Let's do better today ... OK?"
I'm not planning to do any
of this stuff in 2003.
Which -- of course -- is
precisely what makes me believe I may actually have a shot at
accomplishing some of it.