The Fitness Challenge

I've done it.
I've gone on a diet.
Not one of those crazy South Beach diets where I have to give up everything but egg whites.
No, silly.
But I have (gulp) given up iced soy chai. And pizza. And junk food in general.
Here's why: Perhaps it was the impact of my mom's death, but I have gained some pounds. I still exercised, of course, because exercise is always part of my life.
But I've gained. Let's just say I'm over the 150-pound mark. Because I've been eating. I've been eating whatever comforts me. It's pizza, it's burgers, it's the dee-li-cious Southern food that my Southern friends can cook, like chicken fried steak. And fried okra. And Mexican lasagna. And seven-layer dip. And ribs, luscious barbequed ribs that are so tender and juicy the meat slides off the bone. Fries covered in cheese and onions and decadent eight-layer chocolate cake with nectar from Heaven.
The tipping point came at the mall last Saturday, as I walked through one of my favorite stores and I realized that I was shopping for pants because my old pants no longer fit.
I had a fit, no pun intended. I blasted out to poor, unsuspecting Dante, "Fat people have a right to shop, too."
And I disappeared into another store.
Nothing fit in my usual size. And I wasn't going to go up an entire size.
So I started working out with a trainer to lose some of the weight. And I'm on a restricted diet. I admit, I'm at the gym most days of the week, but I avoid certain equipment. I avoid the arm machines and the one where it lifted me, higher, higher, higher ... uh, I'm not supposed to go that high...I was stuck.
I had flashbacks of my time on the treadmill in a hotel gym in Chicago. The hotel gym was on the 12th floor of the hotel, and the lovely hotel that it was had floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the lovely city.
I fell off the treadmill.
Actually, truth be told, it spit me off. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
I don't have a good relationship with machinery.
A stationary bike is easy. Elliptical, a breeze. I can do those. Anything more complex and I'm in trouble.
Now, I'm on a six-week mission to tighten my abs and lose the weight with a supervisor, who can yell, "Hey, you're not supposed to do that with the equipment."
We'll see where this gets me.