Anyone who knows me passably well and sees my name and headshot in an Inside Column on the day after Valentine’s Day is more than likely expecting to read a bitter diatribe about how love is dead. Sorry to disappoint you.
True, the horrible holiday that took place yesterday is single-handedly killing love. No one denies this. I’ve decided, however, that the worst aspect of Feb. 14 and all it stands for is its proximity to Spring Break.
On March 6, 10 of my friends and I will be jetting off to sunny Puerto Rico for a week of frolicking in the ocean, partaking in assorted alcohol-related debauchery and working on a tan that South Bend will no doubt suck away within days of our return.
Obviously, since people wear bathing suits to the beach, I’ve spent all my time since last semester’s finals week trying to get in shape.
I’ve been on the treadmill for an hour a day, tried to tone my arms with the weights at Rolfs and forced my friends to sign up for RecSports abs classes with me.
Additionally, I’ve been subsisting mainly on chicken noodle soup, raw vegetables, small cups of yogurt and glasses of water. I even tried the Special K diet for a few days. It worked until I gave in and admitted how hungry I was. Those serving sizes aren’t very big.
I think I’ve been doing a pretty good job. But Valentine’s Day is ruining all of my efforts.
For the past week or so, I haven’t been able to go anywhere without seeing some sort of unhealthy (and therefore extremely tempting) treat.
There are bowls of candy everywhere I turn. People selling Krispy Kremes seem to be camping out in Jordan Hall because I see them every time I cut through on my way to Rolfs. Even my parents, who are normally pretty good about healthy Valentine’s Day gifts, sent along a donut with the usual assortment of fruit.
Incidentally, as I sat in my room typing this column just now, my RA knocked on my door and presented me with a Funfetti cupcake. This is torture.
I don’t understand how I’m supposed to get in shape when there are all these well-meaning people offering the entire “eat sparingly” section of the food pyramid to anyone who walks by. One single baked good translates to a lot more gym time spent trying to burn off those obnoxious Valentine’s Day calories.
This holiday is clearly promoting America’s reputation as the fattest, unhealthiest nation in the world through the never-ending supply of chocolatey snacks. It needs to end. Immediately.
Unfortunately, I typed that last paragraph while stuffing my mouth with the Funfetti cupcake just like the bitter single person I am. Back to the treadmill.