New Year's Diet Resolution? Get Real!

As January 1^st approaches, many of us are plotting our new weight-loss resolutions. To which I say, good luck with that. I don't want to be a harbinger of bad news right off the bat in the new year, with all that hope and freshness and new batch of fad-diet books sprawling our before us, but maybe you should pick a resolution you're more likely to attain, such as winning the Megabucks or being chosen as Hillary Clinton's 2008 running mate.

With those you at least have a chance.

I offer myself up as an example.

Last January, like many of you naive and slightly overweight resolution-ers, I joined a fitness center with the goal of losing about 20 pounds. I lifted weights five days a week. I walked the dog two hours a day. And over the summer I put on over 500 miles on my bicycle. Last month when I eagerly stepped on the scale at my annual cardiologist appointment I was less than impressed to learn that I had gained nine pounds.

D'oh!

Sure, I probably turned some fat into muscle. But did a voice come out from the doctor's scale announcing, "Congratulations, you have turned fat into muscle!"? No, a voice came out of the nurse observing, curtly, "You worked your way back up."

Sure, I worked my way back up, I wanted to say: That probably happened on my cruise last May when I visited the fitness center every morning for seven days, even the day I was seasick. Or maybe in Las Vegas when I worked out at every hotel we stayed at, even the one at Sunset Station Casino where it was just me and some other creepy-looking guy in a shabby hole-in-the-wall room with no attendant. Or maybe it happened as a result of the 200 McDonald's Asian Chicken salads with low-fat dressing I consumed over the past year, or the sea of fruit smoothies I drank for lunch. Or, oh, I forgot about this, it might have crept back on while lifting the equivalent of the furniture housed in the Hearst Mansion helping my daughter move not once, but twice, this year.

Looking back, I'm sure the cross-country skiing didn't help, either.

Yes, every year we arrive at the new year with high hopes, fresh reserves of willpower, and the latest Dr. Phil diet book.

At least I used to. This year it's a bottle of champagne, a box of Frangos, and I may even skip my workout New Year's Day.

As long as I'm working my way back up, I might as well enjoy it.