I'll Start Working Out Tomorrow

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Tomorrow.

No, that is not the hip hop rival of The Weeknd, that's the line our fat asses have used every time we try to convince ourselves that we will get in shape and start eating green things.

It would be pretty great to wear form-fitting, stylish clothes without your cheese-filled gut popping over your screaming belt, wouldn't it? But you know what else is pretty great? Cheese!

Listen, we're not going to get in People-magazine-shape, so let's just all agree to change "tomorrow" to "nope" and be done with the whole charade.

The disappointing thing is that it is a truly sad journey to "tomorrow."

The day starts out with so much promise. You get out of the shower, look at your disgusting body in the mirror and tell yourself, "Ok, this has to happen. I'm having a salad for lunch and going to the gym after work."

So you pack the free t-shirt that you tackled a kid for at a sporting event, a pair of shorts, socks, sneakers, and a sweatshirt (to put over your t-shirt at the gym so the in-shape women don't see how chubby you are, despite your fat face popping out of the neck hole. Plus, hey, you'll sweat more and lose additional weight!).

You go straight to work without any breakfast (gotta save your calories) then order a very healthy Cobb Salad for lunch (because the lettuce and tomatoes offset the bacon and ranch dressing), have two cups of water, and only one pastry that Heather in finance brought in from her kid's communion this past weekend (you don't want to be rude).

There are still a few hours left in the workday and you're feeling great. Out of nowhere, 3:00 p.m. strikes and it's time to rationalize the mini Krackel bar you are about to eat. Then fucking Heather from finance is walking around again with the pastry tray telling everyone "Hey, trying to get rid of these. Want one?"

You're a team player - I don't have to say it. You know what you did.

You feverishly wipe the Lobster Claw flakes off your wrinkle-free, TJ Maxx dress shirt whose buttons are holding on for dear life, so the 12 people you told about your diet don't suspect a thing. "I'm going to the gym tonight anyways," you tell yourself, holding back a tear.

It's now 4:00 p.m., you're cranking out emails to clients you hate and begin to start thinking about the process of finding parking at the gym.

Finding a locker.

HAVING TO CHANGE INTO YOUR GYM CLOTHES. Oh my god, so much work before you even find an open treadmill that probably won't be showing the game on its fuzzy, standard-definition TVs.

Five-o-clock p.m. You're leaving work on the dot because it's the first day of the rest of your life. You're getting in shape... but you also have to let the dog out.

You also really want to watch the game. Is that a hint of a headache you're detecting? You don't want to risk getting light-headed on the elliptical and fall off.

And really, you only had a monster Cobb Salad, two of fucking Heather's pastries, and a Krackel bar. You also WALKED down the block to pick up lunch, so that's like a mile of exercise right there.

You'll just stop home real quick, let the dog out and then get your Brad-Pitt-Fight-Club body going.

While the dog is in the backyard barking at the wind, you might as well check out which Seinfeld re-run TBS is showi-- HOLY SHIT, it's The Contest! Alright, once the episode is over, you are out the door to that place with the machines and people and shit.

As a matter of fact, you're changing into your exercise gear as you watch Elaine sign up for a fitness class and fall in love with JFK Jr. (the irony is totally lost on you at this point).

Ah, you know what? It's going to be pretty late by the time the episode is over and you get back to the gym. You don't want to eat late, because, obviously, that's not how you lose weight. Like, duh.

Just something small before you head out. A few crackers and some cheese is fine.

There he is. Your good friend cheese. It's all over. It was over the moment you saw your man tits laughing back at you in that mirror this morning and you made up a ridiculous Donald Trump-like plan of action to fix it.

It's 7:00 p.m. You're halfway through a block of Muenster and that game is starting in 30 minutes.

You'll just go to the gym tomorrow.