I signed up for an on-line diet, nutrition, and exercise overhaul and I was oozing with diligence when I signed up, so much so that I must have checked fourteen boxes about things I was interested in like fighting belly flab and frequent, fabulous fun ways to fend off food cravings. And I have at least a dozen unread emails on toning and tensing my arms and special little exercise moves I can do at my desk or in line at the grocery or when I'm talking to a really boring person and need to keep active. I have growing guilt that I am not doing any of these frequent, fab, fun things and I wonder why diet and exercise people use so much alliteration.
I wonder why the models who are doing the exercises don't look like they need to do these exercises at all. I wonder why the tea towel that one blonde lady is using can help people get-a-handle-on-their-love-handles, and now when I go into my kitchen and I see my tea towels there and not being used for anything other than wiping my hands after I cut fruits and vegetables, I wonder what it is about the diet craze that is making us all crazy. Because no one can consume all this data. I don't want to know about 125 special diet foods, I'd like to know about, maybe, 4. I don't want 32 suggestions on burning fat, I'd just like one that will get the job done. I tend to ride the exercise bike at home when I'm watching the Food Channel. I find it strangely comforting to see all that stunning food while I'm pumping away and not eating any of it. Certainly, we are living in the age of too much information, but I wonder why we've decided we need it, and what it means, and why my inbox now contains 64 low-carb meals that I can whip up in around 30 minutes. But the whole thing is making me tired and I just want to eat out and take a walk in the park and not work on my abs while I'm doing it. It makes me want to slice up my medicine ball, it makes me want to take my 5 pound weights and use them as door stops. But, instead, I find a tea towel that is reasonably clean and I twist it like the blonde lady on my computer is doing, and I swing it to the left as my knees swing to the right and my dog looks strangely at me and my neck begins to spasm. I attempt to drop to my knees, forgetting that my right knee is sore from the other fun, fab exercise I tried the other day, and although at this point I'm supposed to think of my core and what it means, I'm no longer sure what it means, and honestly I don't care. So, I think about my other core, the one inside that says I am a person of worth and meaning whether I lose an inch around my middle, whether I can drop the stupid seven pounds.
There are so many voices coming at us in this old world, the ones that tell us we're just not good enough, the ones that whisper that losing a little belly fat will change our lives, the ones that tell us we can look like the touched-up model on the screen, and when we do, then ahhhhh, we will know happiness. My dog Max is sitting and looking at me, so I take the tea towel and play a serious game of tug with him, possibly strengthening my arms and abs and pectorals and my teeth and earlobes and that, honestly, feels pretty good. Then I go online and unsubscribe from the uber diet site. Are you sure you want to unsubscribe? Trust me.