Younger Next Year?

“You should read this book,” Dr. D said again.

Ok, there he goes again, mentioning that book! Self Help books and I, not a successful mix. But this was the second time he had brought this up. Maybe Dr. D really was serious? What was the name of it again? Younger Next Year For Women. Doesn’t sound bad, but I knew my history with self help books; when I did occasionally buy them, with the best of intentions, I rarely made it past the first chapter. Why would this be any different?

I stood in Chapters reading the back of the book –a pink book, for women, the color already was turning me off. How typical – pink for women!



“It’s got all the tools that women need to achieve longer, sexier and more passionate lives.” Ok, sounds good.

“Smart women don’t grow older, they grow younger.” Wow, that sounded even better. Younger!? What did I have to do to get this youth, be sexier and more passionate. Maybe I would get past the first chapter of this book. But was I really in that bad a shape? Had things really gone that far downhill for me? Was I really that unhealthy? I had just returned from Paris, come on, Paris! One can only return from the City of Lights on a high and feeling fabulous, not tired, out of shape and portly.

Time to take stock. A year in Paris; it had been a drastic lifestyle change for me. For a year I:
- ate what I wanted
- drank at will
- barely exercised
- was sleep deprived –did not want to miss out on anything Paris had to offer.
- yes, packed on a few pounds in the process.
It did not sound all that bad, actually it had all been pretty darn excellent.
But I was in my mid 40’s. Maybe not the best time to be living this indulgent, carefree, sloth like way of life.

At the age of 26 I had also lived in Paris for a year. It was a student year, studying for my Masters and it was a very good year indeed. Funny, lifestyle wise it had been a similar year as I:
- ate what I wanted
- drank at will
- barely exercised, although I did actually belong to a gym at Place Beaubourg, Espace Vit’Halles, following around uncoordinated hairy skinny Frenchmen in neon spandex who were trying to lead aerobic classes (it was the 90’s after all, neon and spandex.)
- was sleep deprived - did not want to miss out on any student parties.
- yes, packed on a few pounds in the process.
- and yes, the occasional studying was involved.
But my doctor had not looked at me with disapproval upon my return, suggesting twice that I read a book about being younger next year. What was different?




Almost 20 years was the difference!

I realized that recovery would take slightly longer as a 45 year old, versus recovery as a 26 year old. Maybe it was time to really listen to Dr. D.

Younger Next Year For Women it was going to be.

I walked to the cashier, my girlie pink self help book in hand.


Not sure where the 20 years have gone, but yes, apparently they do make a difference!



Next Post: Bread in Paris. Yes, part of the problem!

Re-entry Morning

5.30am, July 2011: Three jet lagged Tai girls walking around their big Calgary house, trying to figure out where everything is and where all this space came from. Going from a 550 sq ft Parisian apartment to a 4000 sq ft house certainly is a shock. Slightly stunned they decide, now that it is light out, to hit the local pathways on their mountain bikes. Magnificent. This is not velib riding, negotiating their way amongst the cars, pedestrians and dog pooh on the streets of Paris. This is dirt, tree roots, long grass, hills, speed, and maybe even the occasional coyote. And we are back to being safe and Canadian, our cycling helmets tightly strapped to our noggins. Is this change good, or bad? I can't decide. I miss the noise, the hustle and bustle.

"This is glorious maman. You can't mountain bike like this in Paris," happily yells out 8-year-old Gabrielle.

She is right, this is glorious and the perfect start to our re-entry into our Canadian lives. Sometimes the perspective of a child is needed.

I succumbed to your powers ma chère Paris!

     Ahh...Paris, you are my favorite city of all. Oui je t'aime. You shine brightly above all others, with your amazing history, architecture, fabulous museums, culture, music, world class shopping, the je ne sais pas of the Parians and of course, your bewitching food.

     A year with you and this food have left me spent, beaten, as I surrendered to your wicked powers as you lured me with your evil....calories!

     Leaving you was not easy but leaving your splendid nourishment was definitely the best move for my ever growing girth and tightening clothes. The recovery now starts. This recovery has not only been emotional and psychological but physical as I try to shed the obvious evidence you have left on my corpulent frame. It did not take long for your vicious regimen to attack me, but I know it will take longer for me to find my previous shape and health. Who dared say "French Women Do Not Get Fat!?" This half French woman certainly made an unconscious valiant attempt to disprove this!