There’s something familiar about 2011; it reminds me of 2010, with faint traces of 06-09. The New Year’s Fairy didn’t make it to my house to give me an actual clean slate to work with. My desk was still is great disarray when I woke up on Saturday morning and I’m still not a size four, despite putting pictures of movie stars who are under my pillow on December 31st. I’d like to say I’m a much improved person this year, and maybe the possibility remains in certain areas, but, sadly, I’ve already committed a crime, driving eighty miles per hour when I knew the interstate speed limit was seventy, and I’ve already slipped a tiny bit on my diet, unless someone can come up with a solid nutritional value for the Rice Krispie treat I had yesterday. I haven’t raised my voice at my kids yet, and I really hope to keep that resolution as long as possible, but, in all fairness, I was gone Saturday and Sunday and they went back to school this week, and I’ve always been better at not losing my patience with them when they’re not around.
I’ve overheard the resolutions of others in the last few days. From your basic “get in shape” to “going to bed by midnight every night”. The bedtime one was from a college friend who has a strong distaste for mornings, and she had been pretty successful in passing that aversion on to her kids until she had this last baby and now she’s out of bed before McDonald’s even starts serving lunch. I thought it was ironic that she made her New Year’s Declaration public at 12:06am on January 1st. Talk about blowing it right away.
My heart goes out to the weight loss and get in shape crowd because I’ve been there. I was fortunate enough to find something I love to do – running, and it’s been easy to stick with. And I think that’s key in anyone’s overall success; you have to find something you love and that doesn’t feel like a chore. And you can’t choose eating. Believe me, I’ve tried. My husband and some of his cronies love playing basketball, so they get up in predawn hours and meet at the gym a couple of days a week. It’s a “come as you are”, no teeth brushing or hair combing necessary type of organization. Not that my husband needs that to stay trim; he won the genetic lottery with a fast metabolism. He could eat half a gallon of ice cream at eleven at night and it wouldn’t show up on the scale in the morning. Actually, I think it might show up on the scale in the morning, just not when he’s the one standing on it. And I know he secretly indulges in the dark arts of fast food eating and dessert consumption, whereas I can’t even drive by a Taco Bell without gaining a little weight. And while I’m comfortable with the size I am now, I want to lose another 17-18 pounds so that I can be a serious competitor in running. So, I just pretend cookies and donuts are poison and that full fat dressing doesn’t exist. And it helps to brainwash yourself into believing your highly allergic to anything fried.
So, good luck to all of you who are climbing on the whole grain, low-fat wagon, and remember that while your eating options may be limited, your options for an active lifestyle are virtually limitless. This twenty-one year old guy I work with came to work the other night with an eye-catching scab on one of his elbows and when I asked him how he got it he said, “Ping pong.” Seriously? What kind of ping-pong is he playing? Tackle ping-pong? Whatever style it is, it seems pretty hard-core. And to each his own.
