Instead of socks for christmas, I hung my sports shoes this year at my door.
I kept the kid informed that Santa will not come in his traditional red. He will come dressed in an Amazon tee with an Amazon box in his hand. He believed me because the delivery guy actually came in an Amazon tee. I’m happy that the 5-yr old understands satire.
I smell a new year.
I smell a fresh year.
I smell resolutions.
Isn’t it that time of the year when we all are checking ourselves, finding out where our sports shoes are? Some of us are almost scavenging the house for the shoes worn exactly a year back. A few better of us are cleaning them and showcasing them and feeling smug about ourselves. A few of us are already telling others how they should start jogging and working out to feel fit. From the new year of course! What were you thinking?
Another set of people are talking and trying to team up with others so that they can start working out from Jan 1.
The whole year is like a doughnut. It is a doughnut of our hopes. All our hopes, especially of working out start on Jan 1, come a full circle and reach the same point when we realize it is the next Jan 1.
The only problem is the hole in the middle of the doughnut. The hopes, the decisions, the resolutions fall through the hole. Often our workout shoes.
Despite us being in our resolutionary best, (that is not a typo), our weight-losing resolutions are like hot-air balloons which disappear in the air even before we can hold them in our hands.
This is what usually happens to my gym resolutions in New Year.
The gym knocks and these are my replies:
On Jan 1 – No way! Are you still drunk?
On Jan 2 – Insane. Not happening.
On Jan 3 – Just getting over the hangover dude. Please hang on to your hopes.
On Jan 4 – I just started feeling fresh.
On Jan 5 – Sounds astronomically pragmatic.
Finally, finally, all in my best spirits, and with around 15 snoozes of the alarm, I wake up, look outside, feel drowsy and kicked at the same time and rush out of bed.
Fresh new sports tees, shorts, shoes, ummm, its a warm feeling right?
I reach the gym, look around curiously but with confidence and talk to the instructor about how my biceps need work. My core needs to be strengthened. My abs need love. He directs me to the nonchalant treadmill.
I pump it up. I feel like a hungry dog.
I come down. Drink loads of water.
I look for the exit door when the instructor taps gently to ask ‘Madam, where are you going?’
The last person I would want to meet at this moment.
‘I will be here tomorrow,’ and I rush off.
I walk out. A smug smile of ‘I worked out’ plastered all over my face along with a ‘hah, you belly bag! Look at me’ snigger radiates from my face.
The next day comes, and the alarm needs to snooze around 20 times. Gradually, the alarm gets too tired to snooze constantly, and eventually, stops ringing.
So does my gym routine.
My shoes find a good spot somewhere in my store room.
Au Revoir my Nike until Dec 2017!