Here we go.

January 5th, for heaven’s sake, and I’m just gearing up for the New Year.

Time for new starts and cleaning up old stuff. Embracing tranquility. Yup, that’s on my agenda. Along with finishing not one but two novels, home renovations, yada, yada, yada.

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How am I doing? Well, I haven’t reached flea-market status yet. I have not embraced the KonMari Method nor have I gone on a purging binge. The weather has been too lousy for facing the emotional tug of throwing out old stuff.

But I was re-reading some of my blog posts from 2013, when I wrote over 320 entries about my journey to mindfulness and weight loss. I’m not sure if I became any more mindful, but I certainly did lose weight.That felt good, but it didn’t last.

Visiting Italy in 2014 was my downfall. The food was so good, there was so  many excellent wines to drink, the gelato was exquisite and of course, the amazing coffee had to be consumed with pastry, followed by iced limoncello.

I blame the beer, the spectacular wild boar lasagna and that handsome guard in the Vatican Museum who, when I asked if I could take photos of the Grecian antiquities, kissed my hand and looked soulfully into my eyes and called me, Bella Signora. That was such a head-rush.

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I was still walking daily through the winter, so I was holding my own. Then my hip went wonky in February and I literally had to crawl, then limp, before I could manage stairs and a slow stroll.

The anti-inflammatory medicine was a miracle at banging back the pain, but the downside is that it acted like a weight-magnet. I didn’t change my eating habits and – no excuse – packed on the pounds. Expanded, like a bowl of bread dough in a warm oven. My menopot spread into a muffin top which surged into a mid-riff doughnut. Baking was very therapeutic. Lingering over dinner with a bottle of wine was lovely.

Overall, 2015 was a very good year. Except that my clothes are tight and I feel slow. So what, I thought, I can sew new ones, which I did. Golden Girl Maude flowing tops, slim cut dark pants with elastic waists I could whip up in 2 hours, for when I got too lazy to insert fly fronts. But I knew that couldn’t last. I was seriously into avoidance.

What tipped me back into focusing on what I put in my mouth? Let me tell you a story.

When you travel business class, the hotels or airlines usually gift you with some cultural gew-gaw that you put on a shelf to gather dust.
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We have an entire village of these, from flying KLM. Harmless. Something has changed in the world of giveaways, though. In November, when we checked out of the Conrad Hotel in Bangkok, we received these parting gifts.

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We chuckled and wondered what the hell would possess an executive in a country where everyone is the size of a tube of toothpaste, to hand a departing guest one of these chubby porcelain figurines? I mean, look at puff-braid girl with back-boob and massive arms. She’s a tub who can barely touch her toes. Then there’s her sister.

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She of the mammoth boobs, thunder thighs and protruding belly? Damn, girl, that’s just wrong.

Then it hit me – if I kept using my mouth like weapon on auto-fire, I could get that big.

No, I’m not obese like the two straining yoga ladies, but I’m bigger than I should be. That has to change.

I don’t want to be old and slow and aching. I wanna dance, whether someone’s watching or not. In five years, I want to actually be able to kick some ass, not just think about it. Something has to change.

Here we go. For real.