New Year’s resolutions are fabulous to make—once you’ve had your third glass of champagne on December 31.

It’s like when you’re all tucked into bed, thinking about getting up early to jog. I’m going to get up at 5am, I’m going to run 10k, have a smoothie for breakfast, and just be a better person.

Then the alarm goes off, and it’s as if those intentions belonged to another person. Following the brouhaha of the holidays, those resolutions were made by a different person, all boozy and jacked up on butter tarts and boxes of chocolates. Sure, it’s a great idea…but I’m not actually going to do it. Come January 2, all you want to do is slip into a month-long turkey coma.  Better yet, send me away on a cruise ship so that I may return when it’s spring, all tanned from napping in the sun.

Once all semblance of the holiday season has passed, what remains is the carb bloat that gives you a fat Elvis glow—or whatever the opposite of glow is. Kind of like when a cheese platter is left out too long and it gets kind of…sweaty.  That’s the one good news about the recent cold snap, layers, layers, aaaaall the layers. I’m like Oprah over here: YOU GET A LAYER, YOU GET A LAYER, EVERYBODY GETS A LAYER!

Of all the resolutions going, “Dry January” just feels like punishment. When the scale is higher and the bank account is lower than you’d prefer—a glass of wine is absolutely in order. Of course, to each their own with the resolutions and best of luck to those setting and maintaining intentions. I’ve always loved the notion that we can reset our internal clocks and try our hand at being healthier, happier human beings.

Why try to tackle these changes during a dull and blah time?  On the other hand, what else is there to do? What better way to battle the misery of January by implementing small improvements that will set you up for success for the rest of the year. Although, are these goals like civilizations that crumble by the time we get back to December—and then does it become a vicious cycle? Are we stuck on the futile hamster wheel of gain and loss?

For me, food and weight management is the albatross around my neck. I’m a steadfast foodie, and am quite passionate about all things yummy; and those yummy things are equally as passionate about lurking in my fat cells permanently. As much as I detest the expression, “a moment on the lips, forever on the hips” is painfully apt.  Linger over the flavour my friends, there’s about a 1000 burpees worth of calorie burning coming your way.

Throughout the holiday season, I was an active participant in healthy choices. I was hydrated, eating balanced meals, walking briskly and taking yoga classes. Bolstered by the Herbal One’s Little Black Dress challenge, I was cruising through holiday parties unscathed. I did attend one function with a mammoth cream puff buffet, partnered with a vast ocean of delicious options. You could really give those cream puffs some personality. I did not partake, but admittedly, stared at a co-worker the same way my dog watches me eat. It was captivating.  Tantalizing even.

I personally think it’s better to not even have a taste. It ignites a furious hunger that wants to devour an entire pizza, dipping slices mercilessly into ranch dressing. I simply can’t have just one French fry—I want aaaaaaall the French fries. If I go down that route, you’ll find me lurking around food courts and fast food restaurant parking lots hustling customers for deep fried goodies like a panhandler looking for change. Got a fry to spare? I just need a taste man.

My sister-in-law’s visit from New Zealand was my culinary downfall.  Our Sun Peaks holiday was not a ski vacation, but more an arctic eating tour. Sure, there were salads, but they were swiftly trumped by other caloric delights.  It’s my responsibility as host, and as a Canadian, to find the best restaurants in the area. That’s just good manners.

There was a day that included pulled pork poutine, movie theatre popcorn and a plethora of curry.  Every bite was a masterpiece. Until I stepped on the scale the next day and my eyes bugged out of my head like I was a cartoon character. Yowza, that got out of hand quickly.

That’s the thing about indulging—it’s Christmas—it’s the time to do it, relaaaaax, enjoy yourself. Everyone is giving you permission to treat yourself. Everyone else is doing it. But you alone how to deal with the post-holiday damage control. Except, now you’ve got a taste for that melted cheese dripping in gravy and it makes a crisp salad on a frosty January evening look like a total chump.  But—there’s something about your underwear hugging you a little closer than normal to make you think: Wait. What? But I had salad that time…as a starter…for poutine. I may have gone off the rails a wee bit.

It’s a balancing act. Lose track?  Reset the intention. Yoga classes and the 60-day Barre Kamloops challenge will keep me off the couch for January and February. The fabulous gals at Herbal One are so kind; they’re always willing to pick me up from the food court and deliver me to Poutine Rehab so I can get through my gravy detox, and learn to love salads once again.

Thanks a million to the infinite internet for all those nifty images