Every year, I make the exact same resolution. To join a gym and exercise every single morning. Of course, it never sticks. I make it and break it, make it and break it. The cycle eternally repeats itself.
But last year, something changed. In the middle of December, I went to the annual Christmas party my boss threw. He would always add a gimmick in order to encourage more people to attend. A magician. An acrobat. A clown. A juggler. Last year, he hired a psychic.
Normally, I wouldn’t bother getting my tarot cards or palms or aura read, but I had gotten drunk enough to test it out. I waited in the short line, plopped onto the seat across from her, and told her about how much trouble I was having maintaining my resolution every year. She told me she could help me out if I really wanted. I didn’t take her act too seriously so I agreed without thinking it through. I didn’t know it would be a big deal.
She told me to write my resolution down on a slip of paper. She took out a dollar store cigarette lighter, said a few words in a dead language I couldn’t understand, and let the paper burn to ash. She said if I broke my resolution, there would be consequences, as if that was supposed to motivate me to keep my word this year. Then she moved onto the next person. Our session was over. Done.
The following year started out strong, as always. I went to the gym every single morning for a month. The first time I skipped was in February. I had gotten drunk the night before and was too hungover to get myself out of bed early.
Nothing weird happened until the next morning. A pimple appeared on my chin, large and gooey. I hadn’t had one that size since high school because my skincare routine is on point, but I figured the alcohol was to blame. Either that or the fact I had forgotten to wipe the makeup off my face that night.
I didn’t realize it had anything to do with the psychic until the next time I skipped a workout and a cold sore appeared over my lip. I thought it was a weird coincidence, so I skipped my workout the next day to prove myself wrong. I didn’t want to believe some crazy conspiracy theory. I needed to show myself nothing bad would happen if I broke my resolution.
That next day, I burnt my hand while cooking breakfast and it left a massive welt on my hand. The day after that, my cat left a bloody scratch down the length of my arm. And the day after that, I tripped and fell, cracking one of my teeth so badly I had to visit the emergency room.
It seemed like the more days in a row I went without working out, the worse my injuries got.
I tried to hold out anyway to prove my clumsiness had nothing to do with the workout resolution. But then, after a full month of bumps and bruises, my cat got sick. I had to rush her to the vet for emergency surgery.
I couldn’t risk something happening to her, so while she was getting operated on, I stopped at the gym. I exercised until the vet called, saying the operation was a success.
For the rest of the year, I refused to break my resolution. It didn’t matter whether I was hungover or on my period or sick with the flu. I dragged myself to the gym, no matter what. I didn’t want to risk something worse happening.
Now that the end of the year is getting closer, the Christmas party is coming up in a few weeks. My boss said he might bring the psychic back because she was such a big hit last year, but I’m hoping that doesn’t happen. I’m hoping to stay as far away from her as possible.