My boyfriend and I spent New Year’s Eve holed up at a bar drinking wine and dancing. Publicly, we had easy resolutions. We decided to try to save more money and find some fun activities to keep us active after work.

“We might sign up for a sushi-making class!” my boyfriend told friends.

“Or take tango lessons!” I said, elbowing him in the side.

“Yes, or tango lessons!” he chimed in.

“Oh, that sounds like so much fun,” said our friends. Then they moaned about their resolutions: saving money, losing weight, hitting the gym…

My boyfriend and I exchanged uneasy looks. “We might try swing dance instead.”

It’s not that we were lying. We really, really want to try a sushi-rolling class. We’re really, really looking into dance classes.

But what we really need is jazzercise.

When we met last November, when I was a trim 118 and he was a rail-thin 175. We were incredibly attracted to each other, as evidenced by our first date, which went from a first drink… to a first breakfast.

As our relationship bloomed, so did our waistlines.

I was always a short, curvy girl with a big chest and a flat stomach. When I tried, I was a size 4. When I splurged, I was—at most—a size 6. But after the first six months with my boyfriend, I could barely get into the baggy size 6 jeans I had reserved for occasional PMS bloating. My huge chest was too huge, and I had developed a tummy.

He was a former fat kid who had lost forty pounds over the course of a successful year. He had gone from chunky to thin, and his face thinned out to reveal svelte cheeks and a sexy jawline. When I met him, his skinny jeans were just that—skinny. And he looked great in them. Fast forward six months later, and he hasn’t gained back all the weight but he’d gained some of it. His face had filled out more and his stomach had, too. He no longer wore his skinny jeans.

We moved in together, and vowed to each other that we would eat out less.

We didn’t.

We were in denial. We continued to order in our favorite Indian curries and Chinese noodles.

When I cooked, I tried to impress him with my culinary skills. I made fried rice, butter-poached salmon and truffle-cream pasta. I put cheese on everything. Cheese on eggs, cheese on linguine, cheese on brussels sprouts and cheese on toast. He loved it; he ate it. We both ate it—and it showed on our thighs.

I refused to step on the scale. I refused to get into the bathing suit I wore when we went on a vacation early in our relationship. I refused to have sex with the lights on.

We joined a gym three months ago, but we only went twice. We tried to get our asses back on the ellipticals, but there was always an excuse.  Now, over a year into our relationship, we feel depressed and frustrated by it. We can’t seem to get into a pattern of healthy eating and exercise. We work long hours and enjoy coming home to a comforting meal, a bottle of wine and a movie. We love going out to restaurants as a treat, and we enjoy bringing in those Indian curries even more.

Neither of us are remotely obese, or even “fat.” We just don’t feel healthy, and we certainly don’t feel sexy. We are still wildly attracted to each other. He is still the apple of my eye, even if that apple has been dunked in Nutella.  We just want to go back to the bodies we had when we first met.

So this year, we resolve to lose the extra weight.

We resolve to motivate each other.

We resolve to go to the gym together at least twice a week.

We (ahem, I) resolve to stop adding unnecessary cheese and butter to dishes.

We resolve to stop snacking when we’re not even hungry.

We resolve to not be slaves to the scale.

We resolve to make more salads and order less curry.

We resolve to have more sex with the lights on.

Basically, we resolve to get our physical bodies to look and feel as happy and healthy as the body of our relationship.

I would have told my friends, but then they might have looked at our tight my jeans were around my waist. They would have noticed I was sucking in so hard I was short of breath.

But, like I said earlier, we are still looking for a dance class. It sounds like a better, healthier way to entertain ourselves after work than our usual carbs, booze and a movie. Nothing says motivation quite like tight-fitting dance clothes.  And we might take that sushi lesson, too. Brown rice with cucumber, anyone?