So, I’m snuggled into the couch with my dog, watching whatever inane thing happens to be on TV. Normally this causes me to lose consciousness faster than a brick to the skull. Maybe it was because I was rummy from lack of sleep the night before, but I came to my senses as I was dialing the 800 number to order a Malibu pilates chair. Damn Susan Lucci and all the before and after pictures.

Even though I was on hold, I felt committed to the 30 day trial. For the last three days, I’ve been staying in my box, tucking my tush (which is a bit too bootylicious), and engaging my core. My core and I, by the way, have set a date, even though I know it’s been sneaking out with potato chips and caramel corn behind my back.

Unfaithful abs notwithstanding, I’ve committed myself to 30 days of walking, pilateing, and oatmeal (steel cut). Consult your doctor before beginning any exercise program. Phhht! I’m more concerned with finding a pair of shorts big enough so I can bend over and breathe at the same time.

It seems like pilates come in sets of ten. Ten minutes, ten reps, ten days to lose a dress size. I think they should add “count to ten before taking an axe to your pilates chair.” Swinging an axe works the biceps, triceps, and abs (if you engage your core).

In my Lamaze class (somewhere in the last millennium) they were careful to refer to labor as “discomfort” rather than “pain.” I can assure you that my arthritic knees, my abs, and my left big toe (figure that one out) are about to give birth. I’m expecting some alien to pop out as I’m panting and blowing.

My stubborn nature and desire to get my money’s worth of shipping and handling is what spurs me on to day four. When I told my husband what it would cost to keep the chair, he spouted some invectives that could peel paint off the walls. I expect that when I graduate to the full 45 minute workouts, my enthusiasm and pain tolerance will drop dramatically. I’m counting on gaining enough strength from the exercises so that by day 29 I’ll be able to hoist the sucker onto the counter at the post office without putting myself into traction.