February 8, 2012 by Alison Grisham
January can be such drag. For the first six weeks of the year, people are buzzing around trying to better themselves. Everyone seems to be organizing, purging closets, redoing budgets and attempting to fulfill lofty resolutions that won’t be set aside until mid-February when reason kicks in.
But the worst offenders are always the dieters. When I hear people talking about a post-holiday diet, all I can think about is choking them with a delicious Krispy Kreme.
Here’s the thing — I know all about sacrifice. I grew up in the Northeast, where an entire corner of the country lives on Catholic guilt. Steak houses have to squirrel away money for months to get through the “no meat” Fridays of Lent. In the grueling weeks before Easter, kids stop eating candy and mom’s give up their 4:00 pm relationships with boxed wine.
It’s a wonder there isn’t more domestic violence during that kind of sacrifice. But at least there’s an end in sight. Things balance out on Easter and everyone gets back to normal.
January is so much worse, because people start making, what they call, “lifestyle changes,” and they never want to go it alone. Some clown gives up soda in, what ultimately becomes, a “fad” he was going through. But during the phase, we all have to be “educated” about the evils of corn syrup and carbonation.
It starts off innocently enough, but you can always see where it’s going. “Do you know what they use Coke for?” some do-gooder will say.
Knowing it’s a rhetorical question, I usually try to make a subtle point by rolling my eyes and attempting to walk away.
“Police clean blood off of highways with it, and mechanics use it to eat acid off of car batteries.”
Guess what? I’m going to take my chances anyway. So go try to suck someone else into you internet-induced nightmare. I’m comfortable with my vice of soda; over, say, heroine or crack.
But, it’s not just the people who give up coke, coffee and cigarettes, or as I like to call it breakfast. Like I said, it’s really dieters who ruin the new year. You can’t find anyone who wants to grab a pizza or a hamburger in January.
Everyone looks at food like it’s soylent green. To add to the misery, they drone on about how much fat they’re NOT eating and how much exercise they ARE doing. Pilates … blah, blah, blah … hot yoga … blah, blah, blah … the Russian Kettleball… blah, blah, BLAH.
“Why don’t you come with us?” they say. “We’ll have so much fun.” Yeah. Hey, I have an idea. Somebody hand me a shake weight, because I need a blunt object to hit you with.
So here’s my stock answer: I’m not going to exercise with you. I’m not going to eat bean sprouts, or buy a yoga mat. I’m not going on a hike, or running a 5k. I’m not going to work my lats, quads, biceps or any other part of my body that can’t survive on a dirty look alone. I’m not “eating healthier.” I’m not taking up swimming, or kickboxing and I’m certainly not joining a gym.
When I decide to lose weight, you won’t see me walking around in leggings or a tennis skirt, flashing my environmentally correct mesh grocery bags filled with yogurt. And I certainly won’t drag the rest of my friends down with me.
For the love of Frank Sinatra, when I finally decide to lose weight, I’ll do it my way … with liposuction, Absolut, and a bottle of Adderall.