Every so often, I convince myself I am entering a new era.

A healthier era.
A more disciplined era.
An era where I make wise choices and drink reasonable amounts of water.

This was one of those eras.

It began with walking.

There’s something appealing about the idea of walking. Not the intense, power-walking-with-armbands kind. Just the simple, quiet kind. The kind that suggests balance. Intentionality. The illusion of self-discipline.

Walking feels like progress.

No equipment. No memberships. No complicated plans. Just shoes and intention.

It’s the kind of habit that looks good on paper.
And on fitness apps.
And in conversations with people who say things like, “I’ve really been prioritizing my steps.”

So I decided I would be someone who walks.

It seemed manageable. Responsible. Sustainable.

And for a while… it was going very well.

It’s good exercise. Mature. The sort of thing people who “have it together” casually mention between sips of infused water.

At work, I do well with it. Supervising a school has its perks — two lunch periods mean two solid walking windows. I’m already on my feet. I’m already moving. It feels productive.

Administrative cardio.
Structured steps.
Whistle blows. Lunch bells ring.

The problem wasn’t walking at work.

The problem was walking after work — when no one is supervising the supervisor.

At work, I’m accountable. Structured. Surrounded by people.
After work, it’s just me… and my inner negotiator.

At work, I walk with purpose.
After work, I walk with options.

I started strong. Two miles out. Four miles round trip. Discipline. Focus. Forward motion.

The issue?

Halfway through the journey… there was a 7-Eleven.

And not just any 7-Eleven.

A glowing temple of carbonation and deep-fried temptation.

There it stood.

Automatic doors whooshing open like they sensed weakness in the Force.

You: “Hydration is important.”

Also you: XL soda the size of a toddler.

You: “I deserve protein.”

Also you: chicken wings rotating on the roller grill like carnival prizes.

You: “Just one donut.”

Rewards App: “Congratulations. You’ve unlocked a bonus pastry.”

And somehow — mathematically — a four-mile calorie burn becomes a one-and-a-half-mile donut.

Halfway is dangerous.

You’ve proven you can walk.
You feel accomplished.
You’re slightly hungry.
You convince yourself this is “fuel.”
You’re still two miles from home… which somehow feels like enough distance to metabolize poor decisions.

It’s the perfect storm of earned-indulgence logic.

And supervising a school all day? That’s decision fatigue at Olympic levels. By the time you clock out, your brain has made 4,000 micro-decisions about hallway passes, lunch drama, and whether that was a bark or a fight.

Post-work walking feels healthy.

Post-work snacks feel deserved.

But let’s be honest.

I still walked four miles.

That counts.

Even if two items “accidentally” made the return trip.
Even if the rewards program practically sent me a thank-you note.

They were pleasant walks, though.

There’s something beautifully human about setting out for discipline and returning with chicken wings.

Growth isn’t linear.

Sometimes it’s carbonated.

And honestly?

If the path to self-improvement includes automatic doors and a roller grill… I’m not saying I’ll avoid the route.

I’m just saying the era may need a revised beverage policy.

There’s more waiting at https://xinkblotz.com. Telling stories, sharing thoughts, and drinking coffee. A blend of fiction, reflection, and whatever’s brewing – one post at a time.