I can’t really call it a “New Year’s Resolution” since it started in late November, but Neil and I are on a bit of a health kick these days.
Summer was great: we had salads nearly daily since fresh, organic produce, meats and cheeses abound in our neighbourhood, and took epic walks with the dog (2-3 hour wanders around town) a few times a week. I rowed, he ran, we rollerbladed and hiked and generally our bodies were tighter than… well… fill in your own simile regarding very tight things.
And then the rains came.
The salads were no more, as all of the fresh things went out of season. Sure, we can still get lettuce, but it’s leathery and flavourless. The tomatoes have lost their tangy zip. Broccoli is wilty and brownish and sad.
The once epic walks have become instead games of “how fast can we run around the block, scoop the poop, and dodge as many raindrops as possible” and “how much stuff can we toss around the apartment for the dog to chase before she breaks something.”
We turned to stews and tubers and TiVo. And lo, our waistlines grew.
So we decided to nip the fat in the proverbial bud.
We’ve embraced frozen vegetables, smaller portions, cut down on “white” food (rice, flour, pasta) and started exercising most mornings.
Frankly, it was all my idea (brought on by some pants that suddenly “shrunk”) and wouldn’t you know it, Neil’s taken to all this like a damn duck to water.
I am not all that impressed.
I am the penultimate procrastinatrix, and instead of getting out of bed at 6:30am to work out, I’d rather make all sorts of excuses about how I can do it later (or tomorrow) and just ONE brownie won’t kill me (ok, maybe two).
But Neil practically springs out of bed in the wee hours to hit the road for a 35 minute jog with the dog. Then he comes home all chipper and and concocts fat-free fruit & yogurt smoothies in our spanky new blender (thanks again Chris & Jill!). He takes an active interest in sticking to a low GI diet and comes home gloating and proud to share his good food choices.
And what do I do? As he leaves for his run, I begrudgingly stumble out of bed and let Carmen Electra and Michael Carson kick my ass. Neil and the dog usually arrive home when I’m somewhere in the middle of a set of excruciating donkey kicks, and more often than not I nail the dog in the head while she’s running around being crazy.
I suck back my tasty smoothie, think about how good for me it is, and dream of the 24g of fat in a Tim Horton’s bacon & egg breakfast sandwich.
I get to work, I plug through, sometimes I have soup and salad for lunch, sometimes I have pie. Neil goes to Salad Loop nearly every damn day (which I don’t have near my work). I fantasize about cheeseburgers.
Neil will even get up and go for his regular run on Wednesdays AND Thursdays, when we ski Wednesday nights. He claims he feels Grrrrreat! I did a light upper-body workout Wednesday morning, snowboarded Wednesday night, and suffered through most of my workout Thursday afternoon. I had to go to work with my hair in a wet ponytail today, because my arms are so sore, I can’t bear enough weight to wield the hairdryer.
But I am noticing that overall I’m feeling better. The pants are mysteriously un-shrinking themselves. I’m standing a little taller now that I’m not feeling bloated and puffy all the time. I’m even sleeping better.
Is that enough to keep me going? Hell no.
I do it because I’m stubborn. I will not be shown-up by my fiancÃ©. Whatever he can do, I can do backwards in High Heels.
I’m just hoping he starts to feel the same way about doing the laundry…