I’m not big on New Year’s resolutions. This wasn’t always the case, which is how I’ve learned that just because you decide to do something on a day designated as “one” or “the first” doesn’t change the fact that you are a lazy, undisciplined slug with no will power.
I especially know not to resolve to do anything requiring a scale or the purchase of mass quantities of lettuce. Aside from the fact that the decision to lose weight in January makes me feel like part of a herd, a rather counter-productive bovine image, at this time of year you are surrounded by people dieting whose weight loss goals don’t amount to the heftiness of their Nikes. They’ve usually succeeded by the end of January, leaving the veteran dieters who at this point are starting to look despondent and hungry.
However, I have no qualms about making resolutions on behalf of other people. This is how poor Dirtman came to be sitting down to dinners of broiled fish and eating oranges at midnight instead of troughs of cereal.
It occurred to me that some of Dirtman’s eating habits that he’s gotten away with all these years were starting to turn on him now that he’s reached 50. His truck is a Krispy Kreme graveyard of boxes and when you open the passenger side door candy wrappers spring out at you along with empty ice tea bottles: the Dirtman version of “doing lunch.”
And so I decided that Dirtman needs to eat more healthfully. The sting in this, though, is that a slimmer, healthier Dirtman is bound to live longer, meaning his lazy, undisciplined wife with no will power – that being me – will die young (okay, younger) and puffy, leaving the slim healthy Dirtman to some slim healthy nymph interested only in his money who will fatten him up so he dies, leaving all my stuff to her.
This is how I came to be sitting next to poor Dirtman eating that same stupid broiled fish and eating oranges at night instead of bags of Good-n-Plenty.
I’ve found Dirtman to be a bit of a rube when it comes to dieting knowledge. For instance, he thinks it’s simply a matter of burning more calories than you take in and keeping your fat intake to between 20 and 30 grams. HAH! How naïve!
I’ve got plenty of dieting experience, having lost hundreds of pounds myself, and I know it’s not that simple. There is what you drink and when. There is what you eat and what you eat it with. There is whether or not to drink while you eat. There is when you exercise and what you do. There are measurements to be taken. There are tests to be run. There is special clothing required, not to mention the footwear.
We probably need a pedometer, a food scale, calipers and a treadmill for rainy days. We should see our doctor first, then a nutritionist and a movement therapist (there must be something called a movement therapist), a personal trainer and throw in a life coach and feng shui advisor, because I’m certain we eat poorly because my end table is in the wrong place. We may need a psychiatrist too, because we’re bound to have food issues deeply imbedded in what will probably turn out to be trouble childhoods.
The fact is, I advise Dirtman, we cannot do this alone. We have to join something, spend some money or buy supplements. If it were as simple as expending more calories than you eat, the economy of the entire country would collapse. Oprah and Dr. Phil would have nothing to talk about.
Did I mention that, though it’s true I’ve lost hundreds of pounds, those same pounds managed to find me again and bring some friends along?
Okay, okay, I know that diminishes my credibility, as Dirtman points out. But I have done my homework. I’ve done research. I’ve taken action. I’ve written down my goals and formulated a plan.
I just haven’t lost any weight.