Day 3

Now that the holiday season has officially started, I am determined to hold steady and not completely lose my head in the deluge of sweets-to-come. But I fear that this will prove particularly difficult when the newest Crumbs shop will open its shutters right by my office. The last time a Crumbs popped up by work, I happily made daily visits for those decadent Grasshopper cupcakes and frosted black and white cookies (seriously, those cookies could bring about world peace. Unfortunately, they might also result in worldwide health problems, but what can you do?) until both my dentist and my jeans protested.

To the great despair of anyone who's ever lived with me, my well-advertised predilection for sugar is combined with an awful lack of self control when imbibing in said sugar and an equally woeful lack of gumption in sacrificing snoozing time to don sweats and head to the gym. In an effort to head off any excessive post-holiday toil, on Wednesday I tried to sign up for the Thanksgiving super-spin class. Not only was every gym's super-spin class full, but I was #7 and #10 on the waiting lists. What to do in a time of urgent workout need? I knew I had to call Sharon.

Sharon and I go back, way back to lazy summer afternoons when we couldn't drive yet and spent day after day watching movies and popping Gushers. We discovered Josh Hartnett in The Faculty over popcorn, we poured over anything we could find related to Armageddon while her mom ladled out noodles doused in hot sauce, we chomped our way through Bulworth with a seemingly endless supply of Starbursts. You see, Sharon's house--unlike mine--was chock full of all the candy that my little heart would die for. But Sharon has also always been gifted with a drive to constantly be active so it never made a difference what she ate.

It's true that over the past ten years, I like to think that we've developed healthier, wiser approaches to food (by which I mean junk food), but there's something about the holidays that kick-starts a deep-sated urge within me to chow down on massive quantities of "real food," which my roommate calls "meals" as opposed to my usual "snacks." And no one is better equipped to deal with holiday food than super-athletic Sharon. (Did I mention that she's a spin instructor/personal trainer undergoing yoga teacher training classes while she finishes up her doctorate's in physical therapy? Yup, she's one of those.)

When I called her the day before Thanksgiving, whining about the lack of seats in all the super-spin classes within a 10 mile radius, she promptly offered to work out with me in the morning instead--and I didn't even have to have one of my hopefully-leading, mostly tangential and waffling conversations where I huff and puff towards hinting about possibly working out together. And, as promised, she put me through a rigorous routine that limbered me up for Thanksgiving eating, but left me flat on my back the following day, having difficulty breathing because we apparently worked out the muscle(s) covering the ribcage. (Funnily enough, I always forgot that that's a muscle.) She, on the other hand, was fine. I could only be thankful that I didn't arrange to meet her yesterday at the gym as well. Instead, I promised to show up at her spin class bright and early on Saturday morning.

So today, when I should've been indulging in a leisurely morning by sleeping in, I rolled out of bed after a good 15 minutes of debating with myself: should I go to the gym? But it's so warm under the covers. But I promised Sharon I'd go to her spin class and I'll never hear the end of it if I miss it. Actually, what does it matter to Sharon whether I go spinning or not--but I did spend all day eating yesterday. But is there actually still space in her spin class? After I promised myself that I'd at least call and try to save a bike for the class, I knew I had to go--even if no one picked up the phone at the gym. By that point, I was already standing barefoot on the cold kitchen tile, trying to glug down two glasses of water before leaving.

I duly hustled myself to the gym, marveling at how 30 degrees felt more barbaric on my lungs than bracing as I ran through the parking lot. And now that spinning is something that happened half a day ago, I'm glad I went. What made it better? Knowing that Sharon felt the toll of the early morning and biting cold too. Something about a super-fit person like Sharon admitting that she felt winded after spinning warmed the cockles of my heart because it showed that even super-people are still human.

Of course, she was made of sterner stuff than me, because she talked me into another early morning workout tomorrow--the last day to sleep in before the first full work-week I'll be facing in about three weeks. So today's post was for Sharon--for keeping me healthy! Besides, how else could I have justified coming home after spinning and guzzling down three bowls of food?

-I