A lighthearted look at the news, events, culture and everyday life in New York.
By Nina Pajak
April in Manhattan is one of my favorite times of the year. It’s the month when everything begins to bloom, the baby animals begin to emerge from their nests or holes or whatever, the sun begins to stay out a little bit longer each evening, and – oh sorry now it’s 90 degrees and humid. Welp, hope everyone enjoyed spring this year! It always feels so short, doesn’t it?
This development is troubling not just because we are experiencing environmental wonkiness, but for another reason which dawned on me as I was at the gym yesterday: I’m screwed. The clock has run out on my pre-bathing suit season fitness goals two months early. I was really counting on the next six to eight weeks to be crucial in losing those fifteen pounds I’ve been pretending to try to battle all winter. I swear, I would have had plenty of time! You know, assuming I was going to stick to my new 7-day workout regimen + no-carb/dairy/fat/saturated fat/trans fat/refined sugar/processed foods/gluten/animal product diet I was about to start . . . tomorrow.
Okay, so clearly by the looks of some people, I probably could have used my time more wisely this winter. Although by the looks of others, I can tell I’m not alone. For every lean, sharp-shouldered girl in a sundress yesterday, there were just as many who hadn’t quite lost their hibernation layer and were hiding their undertoned arms under cardigans as though they needed the warmth. I’m with them. After a few months of hunkering down indoors and drinking red wine and Bailey’s, this body is not yet ready for prime time.
This crazy weather is really messing with my system. April is normally wake up call time. It’s the month when it’s just nice enough outside that I realize that I’ve frittered away the winter and I’ve got no time to lose if I don’t want to spend summer in a muu-muu. Or if we’re being honest, it’s the month when I realize that I should’ve started a month ago and I’ve left myself absolutely no room for fun or error. Then I spend the next two months scrambling against an unrealistic deadline, repeating the same refrain with increasing desperation each passing week. “I can lose fifteen pounds in eight weeks, right?” And then, “I can lose twelve pounds in five weeks, right?” Followed by, “I can lose ten pounds in four weeks! Right?” And finally: “If I go on a juice fast and work out for two hours every single day and then wrap my entire body in cellophane and run six miles, I can lose five pounds by next week, right?”
This is the way of the world. Or at least, it’s the way of my world.
And yet, as I write this, the Internet may have provided me with my answer. The “Feeding Tube” diet is now apparently sweeping the nation, or at least the mentally ill portion thereof. Rock bottom, it seems I have yet to hit you. See you shortly.
Dear Readers: While I am rarely at a loss for words, I’m always grateful for column ideas. Please feel free to e-mail me your suggestions.
Nina Pajak is a writer and publishing professional living with her husband on the Upper West Side.
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