I need my space

Come New Year’s Day, health clubs nationwide become as crowded as a Petco on Saturday afternoon. Resolutioners swearing to lose weight swarm exercise bikes and treadmills determined to meet their goals. Bee's come home with bruises after yoga from fighting over the last yoga mat.

But another effect of New Year’s resolutions hits closer to home. When the four ladies of this apartment try to shed holiday pounds, the refrigerator becomes as overpopulated with fruits and veggies as a Bally’s on Jan. 2.

On an average day, the fridge carries little more than a dozen different condiments, a half-filled Brita and a half opened bottle of wine at varying times of the week. The same apple has been sitting in the back corner since 2004.

Between jobs and social outings, tangible edibles are rarely in stock (those hussies are too busy being social to buy groceries). No need to assign shelf space to particular roommates nor label packages of lunch meat. There’s simply no food to stake claim to.

Once Jan. 1 hits, not only do the girls reup at their respective gyms, they actually spend money usually reserved for two-for-ones during happy hour to buy real groceries. Whole Foods bags are used more often than their Louis Vuittons. The refrigerator becomes packed with low-fat yogurts, soy cheese, soy milk, tofu (more soy) eggs, apples, grapes, tomatoes and real vegetables (! ). Four different leafy greens (romaine, arugula, iceberg and spinach—damn the E. Coli!) are stocked in the crisper; balsamic vinaigrette in three flavors line the door. A dozen boxes of Lean Cuisines are neatly packed in the freezer.

Cookie dough, carbs, or full fat anything is banned from the fridge. Soda is also off limits, but Sugar Free Red Bull is permitted (Helps burn calories. Kinda). And for the first time in 11 months, and the last time in the next 11, no alcohol is allowed. They even start buying healthier versions of my dog food. Since when did I make a resolution to lose weight?

Problem is, each refrigerator shelf becomes as overcrowded as the cardio room at the gym. Tomatoes fight for breathing room against loaves of seven-grain bread. Roommates wrap ropes around designated areas of the icebox to keep her healthy stock in place. I can no longer stand in the doorway of the open refrigerator, because every time it opens, a head of lettuce rolls out, nearly crashing on top of my head.

But as winter drags on, the refrigerator becomes less congested. Fewer leafy greens and an occasional box of soy anything will be left. A pint of ice cream will appear in the freezer around February, then two or three in March, a sign of weakness or stress or plain old exhaustion with the imposed caloric restrictions. A bottle of white wine will become a staple right next to the Brita.

Even I start eating regular Kibbles and Bits again.

Is the clearing a sign of failure? Nah, just a sign of changing seasons. Who can stick to an all natural, all organic diet for months on end, just as who has the time to spend three hours in a gym every day of the week? Both expectations are unrealistic. So as January becomes March and eventually May, the gym and refrigerator become easier to navigate.

At the gym, that mean’s there’s room to perform a plank pose in yoga class without your head in someone’s butt. For the four ladies of this apartment, that means easier access to the condiments.