Barely hours after Santa's sleigh has returned to the NP parking lot, I've emptied my home of anything red and green -- which includes the frosting licked off sugar cookies and all those tiny sprinkles.
I am now back in the zone and have already attacked a spin class with other New Yorkers obsessed by their bodies who secretly share a passion for Natalie Portman's knotty muscles in Black Swan. (And yes, for pure sicko drama it was heaven, and I did like it better than The King's Speech). In fact, I yearn for just a moment of gaunt and self-control. Not happening.
Close friendships have been formed over reserved bikes and sharing how much we ate before we get to sweat it off. (Did you know Weight Watchers gives you a 6 point credit for 45 minutes of spin?) My new exercise BFF, the gorgeous, blond and very pregnant Self mag editor Hedy Gold, and I have bonded over Sunday morning bikes #30 and #31. Of course I'm old enough to be her mom, but age means nothing in New York as long as you can push it away.
In the five minutes we have to catch up every Sunday, we discuss my neurotic obsession with Natalie Portman's wounded and overwrought body, my craving for dewy-looking skin, and is it airbrushing I need, the best cosmetic dermatologists for fillers and then we're off and pedaling.
My mind is a 45-minute whirl of how much I need to do today. Unlike the Alice in Wonderland Rabbit chanting "I'm late. I'm late, for a very important date," I'm never late but always compulsively early. Pedaling faster and faster and adjusting my bike's nob to simulate hills and flat stretches, I'm planning my path to Walgreen's for Diet Sunkist, Skinny Girl ice cream sandwiches and doggy wee-wee pads. Then can I carry the New York Times and the New York Post and the new file folders for my end of year clean up and still go to Grace's Market for bananas and broccoli? I only want to make one trip but what's the right route?
This endless labyrinth plays through my head while I sort it out to Beyonce or Rihanna. If I finish my to-do list will I have time to read the papers, polish silver, pay my bills and start Cleopatra? And what about that dopey coffee table book someone gave me about socialites and parties - do people really buy that stuff? Yikes, what a waste of money.
Should I buy the movie tickets for tomorrow, today or should I wait to see if we have a real snow storm? Will my daughter get back from her trip on time and what time is it in Buenos Aires? What time should I walk the dogs and what about the salt on their feet and will the laundry room be empty?
Spinning and sweating for 45 minutes is actually all the time I need to figure out my life. We stop and stretch, discuss hair color and take a quick reality check in the mirror to discuss skin tone and lasers and then we're off each in a different direction and it's only 10 am.
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