I love ice cream. I love dessert. I love pie.
I am an intelligent, rational, aware human being. I know that I should eat fewer sugars. I know it. But, without fail, the after dinner urge for a "little something sweet" always takes control of my brain.
So, in an attempt to be healthier (and to dull my addiction for dessert) I resolved to cut myself off from sweets of any kind for 7 whole days. I've read about other people trying to wean themselves off sugar completely (not possible for muah) and they all say the cravings in the first week or two are killer. Needless to say, I was going into this experiment with the expectation of torture.
I made it five whole days without eating any kind of dessert/refined sugar treat. Then my mom/church sent me a big box of easter candy. I gave most of it away to my dorm friends, promising to limit myself to one piece of candy a day for an after dinner treat.
This was all I kept for myself out of a big flat rate box:
I spent Easter Sunday with my Grandma who lives in Corvallis, Oregon. She drove up to Portland and we went to church and then to brunch at Jake's Grill, an established Portland restaurant.
My brunch was really good. It was supposed to come with breakfast potatoes, but I was feeling so guilty from devouring a complimentary hot crossed bun, that I opted for fresh fruit instead. Go me!
I also talked my grandma out of ordering dessert (berry cobbler, one of my favorites). Go me again! Then I came home and promptly ate one of her cookies. Fail me.
I am definitely not a runner. Especially a distance runner. The elliptical is my home, but I did go for two outdoor runs this weekend because the weather was so nice! An epic one on Friday (epic for me) and a shorter one on Saturday. The longer run was about 7.6 miles, which I completed in 1:10. Not bad for this **quadzilla! This is me post-long run, in my sweet gear, doing the ever-classy-cellphone-and-mirror-shot. Note the look of exhausted shock:
**Quadzilla was my nickname from my high school softball team. In my family, big thighs are genetic, and while mine aren't fat, they are really big in comparison to the rest of my body. When I would go up to bat, my team members used to scream and yell "Oh no, it's QUADZILLA!" I love them. Good times.
I'm the one on the far left with the shades, making a nasty bro face: