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I never was very good at New Year's resolutions. No matter how humble or grandiose my annual proclamations, I was sidetracked within weeks by what I was certain was the sheer weight of having made them. I gave them up for good the year I ate a pint of ice cream for breakfast one Jan. 2 — driven, I reasoned, by the pressure I put upon myself to start eating better in the new year.
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Margaret Battistelli Gardner
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