This goes against everything I believe in

Exercise is to me what underwear is to P*aris Hilt*n. I might need it. I might benefit from it. But I prefer to think it doesn't apply to me.

Occasionally I'll jump on the bandwagon. It's usually after seeing an unflattering photo of myself or trying to put on last year's capris. That's when I buy the workout video and give it everything I've got for about a week. Then I decide I like Little Debbie Oatmeal Pies better than Buns of Steel.

(In my closet I currently have the following workouts collecting dust: 2 Buns of Steel videos, 1 Pilates video, 2 Denise Austin videos and The Firm DVD set. I suppose that means I've gotten about 6 good weeks of workouts in the past 15 years. Not bad.)

But last week one of my so-called friends did something completely uncalled for. She handed me a garment and told me to try it on. If it fit, I could keep it. It was a bikini. Gee. Thanks.

I explained to her that in addition to the current condition of my hips and thighs, there was also the fact that my stomach hasn't seen the sun since the summer of 1995. So it is both flabby & pasty. And that's not a nice look on anybody.

Once I got home, I did as she asked. It tried it on. Much to my surprise it did fit, but it still wasn't a good look for me. So, I decided to use that little brown bikini as a motivator. I figured if Valerie Bertinelli can do it, so can I. Right? Right.

Now, please don't think I'm calling Jenny Craig. Not a chance. Instead, I called Jillian, The 30 Day Shred nazi. A few of my friends are doing her workout now so I thought I'd give it a shot. Today was only my second day on Level 1 and I currently feel like I have lost all control over my arms and legs. They are like jelly. I suppose that means I'm doing it right.

My biggest problem with getting in shape is accountability. I have none. So I'm going to use this blog as a means of holding myself accountable. I will post occasional updates on my progress. If any of you notice I'm not doing so, please call me on it. Send me nasty emails. Call me a loser and a quitter. And remind me I'm not getting any younger or any thinner. I promise I'll only be mad at you for a day or two.

With any luck I'll be wearing that brown bikini next summer. Or you can bury me in it after Jillian kills me.