Feast, Feast, Gym. Repeat.

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Isn’t it grand to feast? I love the foods we cook and bake in the wintertime. Even in southern California where winter days can reach temperatures up to 80 degrees. Still, we bake breads, cakes, cookies and turkeys. Did I mention cakes and cookies?

I have an unrepressed fondness for food. Everyone who knows me knows that. My niece and I have decided that we two have ‘picky palates’, which go into overdrive in an aroma filled kitchen. Think turkey and gravy. Think cinnamon, ginger, cloves. Think chocolate. (Sorry, I’m drooling on the keyboard.)

Usually in October I avoid high calorie foods in preparation for winter feasting. I start denying myself of some of the most exquisite pleasures in life, the things that help you through the rough times, the delights that make getting up in the morning worthwhile: cream and bacon!

I even get serious about working out, and dust off my gym membership card. This year I  had a consultation with a personal trainer.  I went to the appointment with a handful of questions, the most important being, “Is it possible to keep cream and bacon in my diet and still attain a figure like Jennifer Aniston?” and “Can Ashley Judd play me in the movie of my life without first having to binge for months on cheesecake?”

Armed with my delusional questions, I headed to the gym.  Let me tell you, these “fitness centers” have masterful marketing, but the staging within the facility is pure genius:

Staging Strategy #1: At the front desk are the cute, shapely young women.  Young women that all women want to look like and all men want to be with.  They are slender, perky, and very pretty greeters.

Staging Strategy #2: The trainers are muscular, handsome, young men.  Young men that all men want to look like (or beat down) and women want to be with.  They are tall and fit, of course; and they smell of cream soda.  Mmm . . . cream.  At least my personal trainer did.

To add to his mystique, my personal trainer goes by only initials: A.J.  I’m guessing he’s Andre or Aubrey or Alexander–some name that is uncommon and masculine.  He walked me through several exercises.  Curiously, they all involved me needing to lean on his biceps for support, or hold his hands for leverage, and look into his big brown eyes to stay focused.  I could have danced, uh . . . I mean “exercised” all night.  And he marked me as a “10” on his consultation sheet–that is the highest rating possible . . . for “motivation to lose those pounds of ugly, bulging fat.”

We never actually got to my questions.  I left expecting  never to see A.J. again.  I was under the impression he was a fictional super-hero that never leaves the holy grounds of the fitness center.  He was a chiseled masterpiece come to life who would dissolve if he stepped outside the gym.  I had finally figured out his name–Adonis.

I did see him again.  And he saw me.  I was shoving a  powdered sugar donette into my mouth in the parking lot of  7/11.  I’m pretty sure he changed my rating after that.


(Hey, I just realized I can always just make a New Year’s resolution to scale back next October.

But wait, what about bikini season that starts in June?! Better hit the gym January 2, 2015. Yeah, that’s the ticket. Until then. . .happy feasting.)


Featured image credit: icartoons.co

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