I just spent a weekend at my sister-in-law's house. She looks amazing. She cooks amazing --usually three times a day. She does yoga and walks. She is an idol to keep me from being so idle. (Sorry, I couldn't resist that one.)
Me? I could stand to lose ten to twenty pounds. Not a lot, except that I am four foot nine and three-eighth inches tall. I go to the gym fairly regularly, but then I tend to wreck my efforts by the way I eat. I have this amazing trainer who is always reviewing the basics of eating for fitness -- drink lots of water, eat often, stay away from sodium and fat bombs. I listen and nod my head. Then I get home. After a full day of teaching and of working out (or of teaching and going to appointments after work, but more on that later), I get home and go into Jewish American Princess mode: what does a J.A.P. make for dinner? Reservations.
It's a new year. In April, I will be fifty. I have always planned on being dynamic and active my entire life. After last year's intensive doctor visits (cataract operation, dentist frenzy, allergy shots), I now have new eyes, new veneers, and recovering lungs. This year's intention is to stay focused, lose as much drama in my life as possible, and eat to improve my workouts rather than to make them more difficult. So, the resolution: this is the year I cook on a semi-regular basis. My first goal: cooking twice a week through January. Here we go.
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