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I’m here to conquer you, New Year. You should know this about me…I’m not, and have never been, deficient in the confidence department.

But I’m a realist too. And, realistically speaking, I know I represent false hope. Because today I am shouting from the mountain top.

Where will I be in 30 days, 6 months, 1 year from today?

I signed up to run my fourth Half Marathon on May 4, which as my Facebook friends should know by now, means they need to decide if they want to unfriend me. I’m going to publicly share how I’ve either met my training goals or failed miserably. Consider yourself forewarned.

I’ve committed to giving up pop for the next 30 days. Or, as I like to call it, my happy juice. I’m in the process of developing coping strategies that don’t involve the beheading of my spouse or getting fired from my job.

I got on the treadmill and logged a very slow and steady 3.5 miles this morning. It felt good. It always does before you allow the soreness to soak in.

I’ve committed to attending a kickboxing class on Friday. I figure I’ll have a lot of pent-up rage from seeing everyone around me drinking pop by then. My imaginary sparring partner won’t stand a chance against me. I’ll actually likely envision the 20-year old version of myself with her flat stomach and ability to eat anything without regret staring back at me. She’s going down.

Finally, I’ve vowed to read more as part of The Empty Shelf Challenge.

Yep, that seems to be enough crap to concentrate on for now.

Good luck to everyone with all your many resolutions. Let’s remember that, at the end of the day, we’re all pretty awesome as is.

New Year. Same ol me.

New Year. Same ol me.

Written by Heidi Woodard

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