On Monday night, Snap Fitness in Robbinsdale, Minnesota, was jammed full of people preparing to pig out over Thanksgiving. I was surprised when I walked in: attendance was about double what it normally is, something that must be due to holiday gorging preparation. I imagine this same scenario is playing out all over Minnesota and America.
There are occasional spikes in fitness club commitment during the year, of course, the most obvious being just after New Year’s. But this isn’t like that.
Committing to exercising after New Year’s is a sign of renewal, a hopeful time where, for about a week, maybe a week-and-a-half, a spark of optimism has us actually believing we can change the habits we’ve spent a lifetime acquiring. Our profuse sweating quickly douses the spark, and while we may return sporadically, begrudgingly, we will return on a consistent basis again only in roughly 365 days, minus however long we lasted (the Internet says a majority of people who join a gym in January give up by February).
Exercising in advance of Thanksgiving so that we can binge eat and drink is something else entirely. It’s an acknowledgement that we are who we are, and we are gonna do what we’re gonna do, and we know it. And damn it, we deserve it.
This Thanksgiving, there will be turkey that will have us napping, and hot toddies that will allow us to tolerate the more disagreeable of our relatives for a time, or at least nap harder until it passes. There will be pumpkin pie that, for those of us with the least self-control, plays a game of hide-and-seek with an excessive amount of whipped cream, a game we expect to win. There will be stuffing, corn, mashed potatoes, and gravy, probably all mixed together. Our asses will grow because of it.
Still, we head to the fitness center, or do our obligatory turkey trots to counter this eagerly anticipated excess, knowing that the time after Thanksgiving, and well into that weekend, will be for naps, leftovers, more naps.
I’ve accepted that my Thanksgiving meal, despite my best one or two-day effort at the gym, will be with me for the rest of my life. With every year of my existence, my pants size has told this tale like markings on a prison wall. I’m trapped inside my body, and I can’t get out. I don’t want out.
Newsweek cites research that the average American expects this year to consume over 2,000 calories (an entire average daily value) at Thanksgiving dinner. And that doesn’t include Thanksgiving breakfast, Thanksgiving lunch, and Thanksgiving late-night snack. Meanwhile, 15 percent of people surveyed admitted they planned to eat more than 3,000 calories. The bravest among those surveyed planned to welcome death with open arms by consuming more than 5,000 calories at dinner alone.
If you’re not familiar with exercise, the slightly heavier than average person would need to run—like run-from-the-police run—for about four hours to burn 3,000 calories. Most of the Snap Fitness crowd were gone within the hour.
The truth is, Thanksgiving dinner is a battle we cannot win. Some of those calories will be left behind on our behinds to better cushion us at the dinner table next Thanksgiving, and the Thanksgiving after that, and so on, until someday we can eat no more, not another bite.
I wrote a story for the University of Minnesota recently on a fun Instagram account, Turkeys of UMN, and their wild ride with fame.
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