New Year Resolutions. They’re all the rage at this time of year aren’t they? (Anyone who wants to write in with a ‘yeah, of course they are Kim, it’s January…’ please don’t.)
I detest them. My New Year resolution was to not have any resolutions.
But god damn all the bloody enthusiasts making January their month to join my gym. It’s a small gym. We don’t have room for new people who won’t last till February.
But there they are, flumping about on the treadmill, lifting their 2kgs all wrong, reading a magazine while cycling, which basically means they’re not cycling, they’re reading on a bike, and are never going to get rid of that festive bottom.
“Flumping About On The Treadmill”
They are there in their droves, the Resolutes. Determined to lose a stone and detox their way through January. There are no car parking spaces in the car park and I can’t find a locker in the changing rooms. Our small swimming pool is full of people doing FUCKING BREAST STROKE which I have put in capitals because I hate people who leisurely do breast stroke without getting their hair wet. They don’t even need goggles. So they are just mincing about the pool, having a chat, getting in the way. The pool isn’t big enough for lanes. It isn’t big enough for breast strokers. I suppose my real fury comes from the fact I can’t do breast stroke. I’m what my family describe affectionately as ‘heavy in the water’, in that I sink. I have to do front crawl just to stay alive. But my jealousy manifests itself as an annoyance at these swan-like buggers hi-jacking my pool, even if they do have as much right to be there as I do. Don’t bring facts into the argument.
Statistically, according to Dr Daily Mail, most resolutions fail on the 10th January, which is today. I was beginning to sound like the Ebeneezer Scrooge of January there, but now look, exclamation marks! You’re all about to give up going to the gym so I can get my treadmill back, huzzah!
I do have some positive things to say, fear not. In my research for this piece I found out all kinds of lovely things. The ancient Babylonians made promises to their gods at the start of each year that they would return borrowed objects and pay their debts. I like that. If my mates could just send me all the DVDs I’ve lent out without making a note of who to, and if my husband would just pay me back that £20 I lent him (can you lend your own husband money? I think so) then I’d be having a lovely Day Resolutions Fail day. But then, I’ve also borrowed loads of stuff from my sister which I don’t want to give back, so the less said about the Babylonian promises, the better.
Moving swiftly on, in the medieval era, knights took a ‘peacock vow’. This was taken at the end of the year to reaffirm their commitment to chivalry. Awesome. I’m a feminist, of course, who isn’t… but I do love a chivalrous man. If all the men in all the lands fancy taking a peacock vow, to remind yourselves that the fairer sex like you to (but don’t want you to, or need you to) invite them to enter the room first. (While making a trumpetting sound, for added ‘ladies and gentlemen, introducing….’ as my husband does for comic effect when he opens a door for me. He knows I like to imagine I am the queen of all I survey.)
I don’t know why I’m so hard on resolutions. After a long year, which typically culminates in gorging on cheese and staying up til 3am drinking port five nights in a row, it is only natural to want to reflect upon one’s wrongdoings and seek to improve upon your self come the new year. So don’t give up, just because the Daily Mail tells you you’re doomed to failure as of today. You can do it. Be better versions of you. Just not at my gym.