I have finally come up with a New Year’s resolution. I was approached by a friend (who is also a personal trainer) as I was working out the other day. He very kindly suggested it was time for me to update my workout program.
Apparently for some weeks he has been watching my routine, which I would characterize as persistent but flailing, and he decided I need some help.
At risk of sounding like Bridget Jones, I now have a goal! I’m supposed to see a revolution in my physique and fitness level by April. And the best part is I don’t have to count calories: a good thing because my math skills are weak. Nor do I have to go on some special diet. I flat out reject any plan that might interfere with my olympic-calibre eating regime.
No, all I have to do is switch around a few things, do my weight workouts first and STOP READING ON THE TREADMILL! That’s right. Apparently the body doesn’t take to multi-tasking the way my head does. The problem is that the entire reason I go to the gym has been taken from me. Because the truth is I didn’t go the gym to get fit. I went there to read Us Magazine without paying for it.
The goal is to lose one pound of fat a week, which I will eventually replace with muscle.
The mere thought of magazine-less workouts terrifies. All I’ll have to do is be alone with my thoughts or watch incredibly fit people who probably wouldn’t see the benefit of a diet composed of 90% refined carbs and 10% coffee. (I call it the Anti-Atkins, Almost Vegetarian Pasta-Lover’s Diet and I neglected to tell my trainer friend about that part of my personal fitness program.) I bet I’ll be replacing those pounds of fat with sheer angst: me alone with my thoughts on the treadmill. Could there be anything less entertaining?
Will this go the way of resolutions from years past? I’ll keep you posted.