March-phobia

THE LULU CHRONICLES

I thought of LuLu fondly this morning while pedaling along on Rusty, the sidekick exercise bike stationed in my loft. Soon, LuLu, very soon we’ll be out on the open road again. I promise…

Okay, an update on the diet and my two dieting buddies. As one buddy put it not long ago, between the three of us, we’ve lost the weight of a three-year-old child. Our goal? A full-blown Sumo wrestler! But for now, we’re moving along. We email each other almost everyday reporting in. We’ve had to confess to one another our digressions when appropriate, and have shared our successes with relish. One buddy is just getting home from a three-week vacation almost five pounds lighter than when she left. I think they should have given her at least five bucks off on her return flight. I mean she saved the airlines money by weighing in less than when she came. Come on, United, where’s your humanity

Another buddy has developed her own special upper-body exercise plan while shoveling out horse manure from the barn. No, P90X for this gal—not needed as long as those ponies keep manufacturing fertilizer. Where there’s a will, there’s a way, folks. You should be inspired by this one!

As for me, I’m down ten pounds. And while I don’t have a waistline yet, I‘m starting to see the promise of one. I’m noticing fewer aches and pains, and my belly isn’t entering a room five seconds before the rest of me now.

But March is here. It is the skull and crossbones month for dieter’s everywhere. You see, we start out gangbusters in January. We bravely crowd into the gyms wearing lime green yoga pants and carrying gallon water bottles in mass. We begin counting calories like armor-clad mathematicians. We are determined. We have waged war on the Evil Fatty Flab that threatens to end our jean-wearing days. We exercise. We read food labels. We face the bathroom scale with a war cry on our lips. For two solid months we are Fat-Fighting She-Cats. And then…

March happens.

Gyms that were once crammed full of sweating exercising women, suddenly are as empty as the GAP the day after a 75% Off Everything Sale. Cartons of cottage cheese and yogurt begin to spoil on grocery shelves. And, Moose Tracks ice cream once again becomes the dairy product of choice.

But, not with my buddies and me. No, Sirree! March doesn’t scare us. So stay tuned. The next loud whoop you hear will be me finally buttoning my skinny jeans without lying on the bed.

Later, dear friends,

deb