New Years Day, I awake with a thousand resolutions. I WILL eat better. I WILL exercise. I WILL be a nicer person. I WILL I WILL I WILL.
I won’t. I’ve been down this road a time or two; it’s not my first new year rodeo. But I mean it every time. And I really mean it this year. I am in rough shape. We just came back from a ski break at Sugarloaf in Maine, and every part of my body hurts—not from the hard work (which it legitimately was, due to two and a half feet of powder that fell while we were there) but because I am so overweight and so under-exercised. It’s embarrassing, really.
It’s not like I haven’t lost weight before. I have had success with nearly every diet on the planet. Herbalife? Check. Jenny Craig? Check. Weight Watchers? Half-check. Atkins? Check. But I am 54 years old. It is just not that easy anymore. And really, exercise is the bigger problem for me. I have never, ever exercised regularly. I have never found that workout that I love, that gets me out of bed at 5 AM.
I am very action-oriented in most facets of my life. I am not usually one to over-think or process. Maybe I just need to start slow, and not aim for a complete overhaul. I am a strong proponent of taking one step at a time, doing one thing to at least break the paralysis of doing absolutely nothing. So perhaps I should resolve to take action every time I think about this problem—get up from my desk, move around, do a sit up or two.
Getting up now.
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