The beginning of the year is the time when we get a clean slate—if we’ve screwed up in the last 12 months, we can “wipe it clean” and begin again.
And considering that lots of us may have put on what they’re referring to as the COVID 19—like the Freshman 15 for the 15 pounds that college freshmen tend to put on—we may be thinking of it a bit more now that a vaccine is coming our way.
Although we could do things like go back to school to become a rocket scientist, become an activist and end world hunger, or dedicate every waking moment to saving the lives of stray dogs and cats, we all seem to take, um, a less noble route.
We just want to lose a couple of pounds.
They start on New Year’s Day—the commercials. From the gyms where you can get the body of a Greek god (because some gyms are still open) to the weight-loss programs that help you look great for your upcoming high school reunion, these places all insist that with their help you can lose weight.
Yeah, right.
The problem for me is the guilt…I usually see one of these commercials right after I’ve opened a bag of chips and have just settled in to watch some mindless drivel. Then the woman with the perfect abs comes on. They show a photo of her “before.”
Hmmmm…seems I’ve seen those extra pounds she’s got somewhere before (Not on myself, mind you. Nope. Not on me. I was opening those chips, but I didn’t say I was “eating” them. Just smelling them. Really.).
Then they show a photo of her “after.” My goodness. The extra pounds are gone. She’s got great muscle definition. Perfect abs. Then the thought hits me: I want to look just like her!
That’s before I get hit with the whammy: she achieved this look in only 30 days.
Uh, excuse me…did I hear that correctly? Thirty days? Not 300? I thought they may have accidentally deleted the extra zero.
In only 30 days…
So after I stopped laughing hysterically, I sat up, wiped the tears from my eyes from my raging guffaws, and thought about it. Here’s what I’ve concluded: to achieve that kind of a body in a month, I would not only have to eat nothing but lettuce, but I would have to work out 22 hours a day. All day. Every day. (I allotted myself a whopping two hours for sleeping. But trust me, if you saw this woman’s bod, you’d know that she probably has herself strapped into a machine that automatically keeps her working out while she naps from sheer exhaustion.)
Besides the gyms, there are other places that swear they can help you lose weight—for only a buck a week (or even a few bucks—c’mon, really, what’s the difference?). Then the quick phrase “plusthecostoffoodandsupplements” is whispered or put in teeny tiny type on the bottom of the screen.
All I can think about when I see these places is what kind of food are they giving you? And when you stop eating their low-cal food, which I assume it is, does all your fat come back? Are you forced to eat “their food” for the rest of your life?
“Sorry, honey. Now that we can go back out, I’d love to go to that fancy, expensive restaurant for our anniversary. But due to my perpetual weight-loss plan, I must instead sit here at home eating my bag of wood chips.”
But if you’re absolutely desperate to take off some pounds, there are diets promising you will lose 10 pounds in two days. Two days.
My first thought was that it must be the “Cut off your own head” diet. Because how is it possible to lose the equivalent of two sacks of potatoes in 48 hours, as the commercial touts?
Well, I looked at one of these liquid diets online, and I discovered the secret—all you do for two days is drink this stuff and water. But that’s not all. It’s got lots of fiber in it. So guess where you’ll be for those two days?
But the biggest problem I have with all these commercials is that I get swept up in the thought of having the perfect body—whatever means I’d use. And while I’m sitting there feeling euphoric, get looks from people off the streets (when we can safely go out, of course), and have great health, the next commercial comes on.
And it’s for a tender, juicy cheeseburger.
Oh well, maybe next year.
Michele “Wojo” Wojciechowski, when she’s not brushing chip crumbs off her shirt and wondering if she should go exercise, writes “Wojo’s World®” from Baltimore. She’s also the author of the award-winning book Next Time I Move, They’ll Carry Me Out in a Box. You can connect with Wojo on Facebook or on Twitter.
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