It’s January 2nd and I am standing in my kitchen transfixed by the biscuit barrel. Jammy Dodgers are calling from the confines “Eat me, I dare you”. The New Year stand off has begun, Lyndsey Versus Lardy Food. I allowed myself to indulge without guilt, fear or limit this Christmas. As I tunefully caroled to my husband in early December “Tis the season to be jolly, fa la la la la la la la la la, So I’ll eat jam roly poly fa la la la la la la la la la, Does it matter, if I get fatter fa la la la la la la la la la, I’ll be happy, don’t get crappy fa la la la la la la la la la.” His face twitched as he pondered his dilemma.
Does he speak honestly and risk injury by pointing out that yes; it does matter very much if I am fatter in January? as it will no doubt mean that I will spend many mornings aggressively tearing apart my wardrobe searching for something to wear which does not make me resemble a flump ( remember them? 80’s kids programme whose characters looked like dog dumps with arms and legs) or that every question he asks me for the next 6 months will get a snarled reply along the lines of “Why you askin, it’s cos I is fat innit?” Hubby’s other option is to keep his health, say nothing and hope the belly don’t bulge or that a major case of diarrhea hits. Wise man chose the later.
So now its January and I see around me temptation in the form of kids selection boxes, biscuit barrels and bottles of beer. I had been psyching myself up for this moment for the last 3 weeks and I am prepared, a reversal of (fat) roles plan has been hatched. Only one slight hiccup stands between me and my yoga DVD, I only gained 2 pounds. Basically bum all.
I had decided at the start of December, that for the first time in almost a decade that I was gonna give a two fingered wave to society’s demand for toothpick, posh spice bony birds and temporarily join the ranks of the Dove models. The decision felt both freeing and challenging, and I was up for it, largin it over crimbo and shrinking it via Pilates Power after. I feel deflated in a way; surrounded by my healthy option menus, exercise DVDs and 2 litre bottles of water. What kind of motivation does 2 poxy pounds offer? Why even bother with the health stuff?
So now here I am, biccies on my left, chicken fillets (of the edible variety) on my right, debating whether or not I give exercise a go anyway, I mean I am slim but far from toned. My husband comes in and playfully slaps my backside “wow that takes a bit longer to stop wobbling now doesn’t it”. Cheeky *$**!!*!*! Well that settles it, forget step aerobics! I am getting my ‘wobbly’ butt down the gym, pumping some serious iron and getting arm muscles that would make Madonna look like Minnie Mouse and then I am gonna use them to pummel his face!
So ladies if you lack motivation to tone up for 2007, turn to the nearest man and say “Does my bum look big in this” his answer, no matter what it is, will infuriate you enough to get on the treadmill, whether you slap him before or after is up to you.