I’m guessing many of you are floating along with me in the same “holy Moses, how did my pants get so snug already” gravy boat. Thanksgiving was delicious. And the two weeks since haven’t really been much different. My exercise routine hasn’t been the same thanks to work travel and lack of motivation once it turns dark at 4:45 pm. The result is tight pants. And dark red marks when I take off my bra. And fingers that look like happy sausages.
Rather than waiting for the first of January, when I’ll be a good pant size larger at this pace, I’m calling a truce on the nonsense. Not because I need to look a specific size to make myself feel good. (If that were the case, I wouldn’t have such a range of sizes already available to me in my closet.) But because I feel better when I am eating well and exercising.
That is the common sense part of this healthy lifestyle that we collectively throw out of the sled this time of year. It is madness and I’m just not playing along anymore. Yes, the bean dip tastes fantastic. And then keeps me up all night with a sick tummy. Yes, that next glass of champagne is lovely. And makes my head pound sooner than later. And oh, yes. That peppermint bark calls my name. And then mocks me with jiggles as I run.
This weekend I went through the freezer and pantry, made a meal plan for each dinner, and scheduled time in my calendar for exercise. Today is day 1; I’m already feeling better and sanctimonious about my choices.
Because really? What’s better than that smug feeling of fitting into your holiday dress and looking fantastic? Certainly not the feeling of another helping of sweet potatoes.
Fa la la,