Some months just seem to slog on forever, don't they? Despite being the shortest page on the calendar, February always seems like it's twice as long as the other ones for whatever reason. Perhaps it's because the weather is just Godawful during this month and that horrible little Cheesesteak-lovin' rodent doesn't make matters any better by seeing his shadow (or is it not seeing his shadow? I can never remember...) and smashing any dreams we might have of an early spring. Sidenote: Did you know that groundhogs are also called woodchucks, land-beavers, and—my personal favorite—Whistle Pigs?! I believe I'll start a Facebook page campaigning to change Groundhog Day to Whistle Pig Day.
But I digress, as I tend to do.
Now, where was I? Oh, yes, February sucking....
There's also the always irksome and stressful Valentine's Day in the month of February as well—a holiday I'll neither understand nor embrace as long as I live; too much pressure associated with that one. Thank you FTD, Hallmark, and Kay Jewelers for making us feel like losers if we're alone on that day, or worse—if we're not—that either we are, or we are married to/dating, total slacker cheapskates if we don't buy what you peddle.
It's also difficult to muster up any sort of energy for exercise during February: it's boreal outside, so it's much easier to stay indoors scarfing down carbohydrates, rather than suiting up like an Everest climber in order to schlep to the gym, only to have to wrest ourselves out of a multitude of layers upon arrival, exhausted beyond words before even lifting our first dumbbell. As a result of the lack of both physical activity and sunshine, my midsection and thighs look as pale and squishy as rising dough. I've also sadly learned that no matter how much yoga I do with Pat the Rockstar, it simply can't stave off the damage caused by sitting around the rest of the day, eating bags of cheddar cheese Goldfish crackers, drinking glass after glass of Cabernet. When it comes to working out, yoga just can't hold a candle to kickboxing, it seems.
I had a colonoscopy this month, too, and of course—despite every Baby Boomer under the sun telling me theirs was a breeze (or as breezy as starving yourself for one and a half days, emptying your colon with powerful laxatives, and having a camera inserted up your butt and woven through your entire colon can possibly be...)—it was not without drama. Apparently I have what they call a long and tortuous colon. Long and T-O-R-T-U-O-U-S. I think that description sums things up perfectly so I will leave the rest up to your imagination, spare you the horrendous details of my viscera.
So, while I normally don't look forward to Monday mornings, this coming Monday marks the arrival of March, which means folks, that beautiful, glorious spring is just around the corner. In fact as of this posting, even though there is a foot of snow piled up outside and the talking heads on TV are either warning New Yorkers about an impending apocalypse, or more snow in the forecast, spring is just a mere 21 days away. Monday I am back to the gym in full-force. The Goldfish crackers are history
as are the glasses of Cabernet. These doughy thighs and my muffin top will simply be yet another unpleasant February memory come April May June.
Yup. Monday; Can't wait.