It’s day three of the New Year, which means gyms are still packed beyond belief and everyone’s still believing that this is the year I will change _(insert something). I’m all for people making a positive change in their life, but I can’t help but wonder at what price they take their bodies, minds and emotional well-beings to get to this idea of “perfection.”
Case in point: While biking and waiting for my laundry to finish, a girl, in her pajamas, walked into the workout room, stepped on the scale, made a humph! noise and stormed off.
As I saw all of this go down, I felt so incredibly sad for the girl. It wasn’t because she wore her pajamas out of her apartment (slippers included), though that makes me sad too. It was the fact she felt compelled to storm down there at that exact moment in time to find out her number. I’m not a pillar of physically fit, but I’m healthy. Could I stand to lose a few pounds? Sure. But my clothes fit me and so do my curves.
I fear the New Year and the fact we become numbers obsessed, and it’s not because tax season is right around the corner. Because the number and your happiness don’t always match up. That being said, while I’d love to lose XX pounds for Lisa’s wedding in July, I just want to be able to build up my endurance to climb a Fourteener with Jeremy. Some of us were just made to have curves, which is why I know I would have rocked the offices of Mad Men.