Unlike the majority of Americans, I do not make the resolution to go to the gym and lose weight on the first day of every New Year. Instead, I make this resolution about one month earlier, on the Monday after Thanksgiving, because it’s the day I find myself overwhelmed with the most extreme amounts of self-loathing. So fresh in my mind is the awe-inspiring gluttony of Thursday, followed by a full 72 hours of unadulterated sloth, that I worry I’ll soon become one of those people who needs to be removed from his one-bedroom apartment in a wheelbarrow, arm fat spilling over the sides. I vow to change my ways immediately, and that’s how I find myself muttering curse words under my breath as I stuff tennis shoes into my gym bag, and gather the strength for my triumphant return to fitness. Read my satirical article about said gym visit (an adapted excerpt from “I Swear I’ll Be Good At It!”), live now on Thought Catalog and Huffington Post and Medium .