Happy almost New year Ladies!!

I never make New Year’s resolutions. Ever. I find them to be like a great drunken night – it seems like so much fun and the world is your oyster but then you wake up the next morning feeling like poop and saying, “What was I thinking?!” Reality sets in and you go about your life, the same way you always have. I have the usual desires and goals as most people for the new year – lose weight, be healthier, read more, get organized, improve my career, travel, see friends more often, do more interesting things with my husband rather than sit on the couch watching “Breaking Bad,” get in shape.

Get in shape. Yuck. This is probably the all-time top goal for most of us. Sure I want to get in shape. Sure I’d like my clothes to fit better. 2013 has been the year of the blob for me. Thanks to tons of fertility drugs, I have spent the year feeling like I either have the flu, feeling like a bloated sea slug that has just washed upon the shore to die, or experiencing a variety of emotions from Cruella de Ville to Eeyore, the sad animal from Winnie the Pooh, who just can’t seem to get it together and see the bright side of life. It has been rough. Just ask my husband who has been the partner/punching bag/therapist in my fertility “journey.” To appease my emotional monster, this year I treated myself to lots of chocolate, plenty of sweets, bread products and wine. My emotional monster loves these things. My waistline does not.

I had to give up my pole dancing S Factor class this year since bouncing and sudden movements are bad for baby-making at my fine old age. The doctor said yoga was a good option and I made it to class, just not that often. In the few moments that I was not feeling grumpy, bloated, tired, depressed, annoyed, and nauseous, yoga was a fantastic thing for my body. And now, approaching the New Year with even more fertility treatments in my future, the idea of getting in shape seems like a pipe dream. Sea slug here I come! So the other day, as I sat down to my Sunday New York Times, I grabbed another scone and ignored my protruding stomach and diminishing muscle strength. But then I read about Joy Johnson. And then I felt like shit about myself. Google her if you also want to feel like shit about yourself. I mean this in a good way, as in it made me snap out of my slump and tell myself that I need to get my act together. What the hell am I doing?

Joy Johnson is a rockstar. She started running in her late 50s and has done over 25 marathons. Late 50s! She wasn’t an athlete or anything like that. She just was bored and one day started walking, which turned into running. And that was that. She ran her last marathon at age 86 and died the next day. Remarkable. This got me thinking. Why couldn’t I get my lazy ass to yoga twice a week? I mean, REALLY. This is pathetic. I was using the fertility stuff as a crutch. I was using my age as a crutch. I was using poor time management as a crutch. Well, enough is enough. Joy – I am making a new year’s resolution thanks to you – No, I am not planning to run marathons. I am a realist people. Here’s my resolution –


That’s it. Sounds simple right? I think it’s quite poetic in its vagueness and simplicity. Here’s my theory – I have no excuse with this resolution because I can do these push-ups and sit-ups anytime, at home. I think I’ll try them in the evening, before bed. The mornings are tough because the dogs are all over me like flies on shit, wanting their morning walk. Plus, if I do them right before bed, it will relax me and help me sleep. I also can’t say I have no time to do it because a few push-ups and sit-ups takes no time at all. I am also hoping that sub-consciously, this small routine will help me get my butt to yoga class. I am also not putting a number to my regimen because my theory is that if I start to do 1 push-up, them most likely I will do 2, 3, etc. Who knows how I will progress. Maybe I will plateau at 50 sit-ups and 10 push-ups. That’s fine. I am being kind and gentle to myself in my resolution so that I will actually go through with it. If Joy Johnson can run marathons at 86, then I should be able to manage a few basic exercises, right? After all, it’s better than nothing.