So, friends, my diet and exercise regime started this month.  It’s called “My Commitment to Winning (MC2W).”  Go ahead and laugh, Brad nearly fell out laughing when I posted on the fridge, at my desk and on my mirror in the bathroom a sheet labeled in 28-point type “MY COMMITMENT TO WINNING.”  While I sound strangely like some cheesy inspirational speaker named Mimi, I don’t care.  I had read that committing things to paper makes it “more real and achievable.”  Maybe that’s why we have a marriage licenses.

So MC2W includes my twice-weekly workouts with my new personal trainer, David.  David comes to my house – can you believe it?  Well, you get what you pay for and I’m paying for someone to come to my house and pound on my door, haul my sorry butt out of bed and demand that I sweat profusely for the next 60 minutes.  This way, I can’t get lost on the way to the gym (which has been known to happen).  We work out outside – in the clean, fresh and brittle air of January – and in front of all the neighbors.  Fun stuff, friends, fun stuff.  So I bound out with my new pink water bottle, new workout kicks (Nike) and snazzy fleece jacket (kind of a periwinkle blue, tres cute).  I am ready to go. 

And OMG…does it suck.  This guy is kicking my booty and laughing all the way to the bank to cash my very sizable check.   I am running sprints, I am jumping rope, I am doing “real” sit ups (I mean does anyone do “real” sit ups anymore?)  I am very close to dying…and in front of the neighbors, no less.

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