Resolve to think positive

With the commencement of a new year, millions of hopeful saps (including myself) resolve to better their lives and quit old habits; without any doubt, the most popular resolution among them is to shed the extra pounds accumulated over the holiday-binging feasts. Even George W. admits his number one priority for 2003 is to eat fewer cheeseburgers.\nAdmittedly, I followed the herd to the Student Recreational Sports Complex last year, vowing to not become another victim of the "freshmen 15." As I briskly walked the path from my dorm to the SRSC, I imagined the exhilarating sensation of lifting weights and sprinting on a treadmill.\nI was totally energized.\nI bounded up the steps like a true champ, sparring a few punches at the finish like Rocky Balboa himself. Unfortunately, my adrenaline quickly vanished when I saw the infinite line of other new year's resolution-ers wrapping around the hall. We waited impatiently for the cattle-herder to lasso us in one at a time. More than a half hour later, I shuffled into the weight room, unenthusiastic and agitated. Talk about intimidation. So many fabulously thin girls -- so lithe I wondered whether they needed a spatula to scrape themselves out of bed each morning. I felt out of my element, and had I not already invested so much time waiting, I probably would have turned around and left. \nFor the first few weeks, I would pace back and forth in front of this one particularly intimidating piece of equipment. The best way to describe it is a bench that one lies face down on and thrusts one's "glute" muscles skyward with the resistance of weights. This is by far the most ridiculous, awkward-looking position, and I have come to the strong conclusion that the designers of such a machine are obviously cruel, cocky jerks. Those of us who really need to reduce the size of our posteriors do not want to be bending in a manner which only draws further attention to its vast width and protrusion. \nAnd for those of you hopeless romantics out there, I am sorry to say that there isn't a happy ending to my affair with the butt machine from hell. One year later, I have still yet to use it, as it and I have mutually agreed to irreconcilable differences. Besides, a little junk in the trunk never hurt anybody, Know what I'm sayin', yo?\nAfter a few months, it became an addiction. I needed my treadmill. My hands wouldn't stop shaking until they were gripped around that bar in front of me that measures heart rate. I swore to my mother that if I skipped one day of exercise, I could see the difference in the mirror.\nAround March, I developed an intense, shooting pain in my right leg. I ignored it valiantly, and persisted through the agony. If I had to limp my two miles on the treadmill, so be it. \nWhen I came home for the summer, I suppose the pain was quite unbearable; after all, it was enough to convince me, the most stubborn cow in the herd, to see the doctor. \nI believe my doctor's words were "the worst shin splint I have ever seen in all my life."\nThe concern with body image has reached an all-time high, especially amongst my cohort, 18-25 year-old-women. If new years are about a chance to turn over a new leaf, an opportunity to better the self, perhaps the emphasis should be less on thinning the body so that we can fatten our souls. \nI call it the Oprah plan. If you can't get in shape, get your soul in shape.