Warning: Things may be larger than they appear!

This past weekend I tried on last years swim suit and I have to tell you, it was shocking.  Nothing seemed to be where it was supposed to be.  How could I have misplaced all those jiggly parts and pieces?  Puzzled, I pulled the suit off and looked at the tag.  Could this be the same suit that just last year had held me close and called me lover?
When I bought the damn thing I almost had to take out a second mortgage, except they said I didn't have the income to qualify.  So I scrimped and sacrificed some of my favorite wines for a week or two, because after all, what with the promises it had whispered in my ear, I figured it was  priceless.  Oh, and the promises that suit made... look ten pounds thinner instantly, regain the breasts of a twenty-two year old, become the most popular aging wino- sipping lush in your neighborhood.  And while I can't say I achieved all of what was promised, it did work in some areas (you be the judge).
No, it was clear, what I was dealing with here was nothing short of  an expired miracle.  See, they never tell you that part on the tag, warning: "This miracle may be temporary and may expire with no advance warning".  The tag also fails to remind you to look in the mirror at your rear-end too.   And that is not such a bad thing, because that is where those miraculous ten pounds get deposited.  Yep, they taken em away from the front and re-deposit them in the back. There is just nothing for nothing in this world we live in.  Dejected, I decided I'd just have to go out and whip up my own kind of miracle.  But first, I thought it might be a good idea to be sure that last nights left over Chinese food was properly secured in the fridge.  Didn't want anyone giving in to the temptation and getting sick because of that sticky wrap or a faux Tupperware not properly sealed.  That was me, always looking out for my loved ones, even if it meant eating potentially dangerous food. I'd take the bullet for them.  And you have to admit, the best part about eating Chinese food is the morning after.  There is just no pill for that.  But here's the problem and believe me, I have thoroughly examined this particular problem from every angle.  The morning after a night with the china man is likely the morning you have promised yourself to start the old diet back up.  There is nothing like a little MSG to get you thinking... Desperate now to avoid the fridge filled with last nights glorious delights, I sat down and pictured every bit of  that Orange peel chicken piled high with the Shrimp fried rice sitting in the doggy bowl.  And I will tell you what, that did the trick.  No way could I possibly enjoy those left overs now.  That hound would be eating with chop sticks tonight.  Feeling the strength that comes with a certain knowledge, I opened the fridge up, pulsing with power. But I hadn't counted on the Crab Rangoon. It was almost like that little Asian man set me up for failure.

Uber Boot

I was ready to sign up for Boot Camp. I started one earlier in the year and then got side tracked with my trip to Hollywood with HGTV (I know, but it does make me sound more interesting!).

I saw the sign for this "camp", yeah I know, camp is a misnomer. Trust me, "I know camp-and you sir, are no camp."

But I had finally convinced myself that the swishing sound behind me was more than a mere stalker, it was my ass.

Having made procrastination an art form, it still took me several weeks to make my move. And as my luck would have it, I had already missed the first class.

I made it to the second class bright and early Thursday morning. Before I even arrived, I had already decided that the typical "camper" profile would be just like me, over thirty and under sixty, and out of shape.

Ha, out of shape is a nice way of saying, "Hun-nay, you big gurl," as they say in the Asian nail salons (another story).

But undeterred I donned a new white zippy, thinking white will make me look more athletic than the usual black.
I cautiously entered the gym and stopped a group of women sort of congregating together, and that should have been my first clue!
They all seemed to know each other. Duh...turns out they'd all done the 7:00am- 8:15am kick box class, their idea of a warm up.

I had warmed up too... ate three frozen Cameo cookies, cutting back as I didn't want to risk filling up.

Still I was feeling a little nervous and scanned the group for someone that appeared to be closest to my ability level...still scanning...


A whistle blew just above my right ear. For a moment I wasn't sure I'd ever hear again.

Startled, I twirled around. The guy with the whistle was about 6'2", 200 pound African American and other than the whistle he wasn't wearing much else.

OK, settle down, he had on shorts, but it took me awhile to get there, as he'd taken off his shirt. All I will say is, I don't know much about muscles and such, but he had some and than some.

He yelled for us all to line up and start doing jumping jacks.

I was like, really? Aren't we going take roll and get to know each other?

Evidently not. I started to do the first jumping jacks I'd done in over a decade. Yeah, I know but- how in the world can you do jumping jacks and not spill your wine all over yourself?

And for something that looks so easy, they sure are hard. Try clapping your hands together above your head, while attempting to keep your breasts from knocking out your neighbor .

My arms stopped going all the way up after about ten. Then Mister Drill Sergeant roared for us to drop to the floor and give him twenty.

Twenty what, I thought while groaning in despair, "Hey pal, how about if I slap you ten and you forget you ever saw me"?

After doing only three "girlie" push-ups I found myself watching the instructor and then only moving when he was looking my way!

To say I was looking for a way out was an understatement.

And, I almost had it.

Next thing I know we are running out the front door of the gym and he is hollering, "Get in formation, ladies."

Ha, ladies. We may have all been girls, but we were no ladies at that point.

It was then that I knew I had to get out and get out quick!

Right across the parking lot was a Starbucks. If I could make it there, I'd be safe. Free to mingle with my own sweat-free type. I could cocoon myself in one of their over-stuffed crushed velvet chairs and hide behind a New York Times.

Yeah, the thought of a Venti, non-fat, 3 splenda cappo would do the trick.

Make me forget about those jumping jacks and give me a chance to fix my now broken bra strap. Plus that location would offer me the added benefit of watching the other suckers that hadn't given up as they dropped to their death.

My escape plan was complete and I was now fully ready for its execution.

But just as I turned to break free from the pack of now rabid women, Mr. Drill Sergeant put his bead on me. He jogged over to the spot I was getting ready to vacate and said, "I know you think this is really hard now, but just wait- in six weeks you will be amazed at what you can do."


It was hard for me to even pretend to smile because there was no moisture left in my mouth, and I was heaving so hard.

But I thought to myself, Seriously?

The best I can hope for in six weeks is that my friends and family will still be grieving for the loss of yours truly.

Yeah, they will all be whispering to each other,"If only she hadn't tried to do so much so soon." Rest in Peace.