I never understood why people decide to lose weight in January. January is perhaps the least cooperative month of the year when it comes to weight loss. It’s optimistic. It’s forgiving. It’s full of resolutions. And it lies.
It lies because the evidence is stacked against you from the very beginning. The holidays are barely ending. The refrigerator is still full of leftovers.
One of winter’s great pleasures is eating. The other is cooking. In fact, much of winter seems specifically designed around gathering with friends and consuming things that contain butter, cream and flour.
There are holiday parties, family dinners, football snacks, comfort foods and enough baked goods to support several small churches.
Then there is the clothing. Winter clothing is wonderfully forgiving. Sweaters forgive, sweatshirts forgive, sweatpants forgive, flowing skirts forgive, coats forgive. A good winter wardrobe can conceal almost anything.
This is why I believe the best time to think about weight is not January. It’s July.
There is no hiding from July.
The sweaters come off. The sleeveless shirts come out. And of course, the stretch capri pants, which seem to have spent the winter shrinking in the closet, come out.
July has a way of forcing an honest conversation.
My conversation arrived one morning while brushing my teeth. I was minding my own business when my mirror staged an intervention. I noticed in my reflection what appeared to be extra fabric from my dress ballooning over the bathroom sink.
I remember thinking, “That’s an unfortunate design.” Then I looked again. It wasn’t the dress. It was me.
I was shocked. How had this happened? More importantly, when had this happened? Surely this had occurred overnight. No reasonable person gains 14 pounds gradually over an eight-month period. The only logical explanation was that I had gone to bed one evening and awakened transformed.
One evening you’re fine. The next morning your dress has apparently betrayed you.
Somewhere between Thanksgiving and July, reality had been quietly accumulating. I had become one of those people I used to observe and think, “Their bodies are certainly showing their age.”
And when reality finally hits, it hits hard.
I didn’t know what happened. Nobody was talking.
The mirror wasn’t talking. The pants weren’t talking. The sweater and coats had already left town. The holiday desserts left the jurisdiction months ago. There were no cooperative witnesses.
Then along comes July, the witness who finally breaks.
Everybody else keeps your secret. July does not. July talks: “I know what happened.” And once July gets your attention, brutal as it may be, at least you know where you stand.
July simply presents the facts and waits patiently for your response.
Dr. Patricia Rupert is a journalist, chiropractor and acupuncturist whose work has always centered on observation. After more than 25 years in clinical practice in Los Altos, she writes about resilience, human behavior, and the patterns that become visible when we pause long enough to notice them.
