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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