The reason for this was simple. I tried on my favorite pair of jeans from last fall, and discovered that the only way to wear them is to hold my breath. This would naturally make going out in them difficult, because I'd keel over before I even got into my car.
The sad fact is that after a summer of wearing elastic waistbands in those gypsy skirts, squeezing my flabby self back into pants with zippers was quite the production. I realized all those margaritas I've had (740 calories each) did not, as I hoped, pass on through. The calories have moved in and built their own fat colonies, pretty much around my waist and hips.
The gym is a foreign place to me, sort of like the Men's department at Nordstroms. I jogged for awhile, and then stopped when I felt I was going to have a heart attack. I did a few rounds on the gravitron (my sister-in-law's favorite workout machine). This is the contraption where you do pull-ups, but there's a counter weight that helps lift your feet.
So instead of having to lift your entire body weight, you can only lift, say, twenty pounds. The nice thing, though, is that you feel like you're accomplishing something, and doing real chin-ups, when in actuality, you're only really lifting a couple of handweights. It's the kind of exercise I like: Little effort, lots of reward.
Unfortunately, the next day, after just an hour at the gym, my whole body felt like I'd gone running with the bulls at Pamplona, and the bulls had run straight over me. This was my body's revenge for separating it from the couch. Am I too young for Ben Gay?
And guys - don't forget - if you donate at least $25 to the Red Cross or to the Bush Clinton Katrina fund for the victims of Hurricane Katrina and send me your donation receipts at