After getting home from the gym last night & feeling pretty darn good, I decided to clean my room, do some laundry, catch up on correspondence, make a few phone calls, empty the trash and cook a really great dinner. I was on fire! My enthusiasm lasted until about 9pm when I totally crashed & passed out head-first into my Cosmo magazine, waking several hours later in a very strange position. At which time, I prayed a small prayer- Dear Lord, I would like to get up tomorrow morning at 5am to do aerobics. Please help me to get up & to be excited about it! AMEN. This just goes to show you ladies, DO NOT READ FASHION MAGAZINES, they will only make you make resolves that are sometimes ridiculous if not impossible.

When my alarm went off at 4:50am this morning, I was ready. I grabbed my Richard Simmon's "Blast Off Broadway" video & headed downstairs. OOPS! Forgot my pants. Run (yes, ran at 5am) upstairs, grab pants & head back downstairs. I'm ready. I'm groovin'. I'm going to be skinny & beautiful & amazing & sexy in just a matter of months. WATCH ME GO. I'm all that. Watch out world. I throw the tape in, press play & say a quick prayer, asking the Lord to help me not be frustrated if I don't get the dance moves correct the first time (Truly, I am a spiritual pillar. Not only do I get up & pray in the morning, but I also do aerobics. I am amazing!).

As the Broadway music swells & I check out the crowd to see who I will be doing aerobics with today. I need someone I can relate to, someone I can look to for comfort if I begin to get frustrated. Let's see- there is an extremely large woman wearing magenta. Oooohhh- I like her! There is a large black man who looks like he just stepped off a construction site. Surely he has no rhythm and will make me feel better about myself when I stumble during the dancing. There is a middle-aged woman. Yes, again I relate to the underdog! There is a very tall, buff black woman. No, I cannot relate to her. Several skinny dancers, a Gene-Kelly-look-alike and a woman that I would hate at first sight, no matter where I met her (You know the type... Sports bra & tight black shorts, long blonde hair pulled casually back in a loose pony tail). No, I cannot relate to any of them. No matter.... I've got my three underdogs. I am ready!

Richard comes out on stage & PROCEEDS TO FRUSTRATE ME MORE THAN ANY MAN EVER HAS ON THE FACE OF THE PLANET. What is this? I cannot dance at 5am in the morning! After a few futile attempts at the routine, I sit on the couch in frustration and watch my underdogs effortlessly do the difficult steps. Bastards. No! That is not the right attitude. I will get up & dance... I have resolve! I have discipline! So, I cha-cha, I swing my arms, I step-ball-change... all out of rhythm. Richard Simmons is a BASTARD. How dare he make this so difficult? Isn't he supposed to sympathize with the underdog? Make it easy for us? Ok, the first song was over. I will surely get the second song.

Nope. The bastard throws something similar to a Michael Flatley move in there. Now I am not only flailing aimlessly around my living room at 5:15 in the morning, I also feel like an arse trying to pretend I know how to do Riverdance! Then, to add insult to injury, all these children start appearing on the video. They come out on center stage, and begin to show me up doing those Michael Flatley moves like it's nothing. Who do they think they are? They're all bastards.

Now on to the third song. I sit on the couch, but get up for the Fourth song. I decide to sing along with the video, perhaps that will make me feel better. "I'm going to wash that man right out of my hair...." Alas! Singing along with the video DOES NOT help my resolve to be a better aerobics-Michael-Flatley-type person, it makes me hate my voice. Well, that's just fabulous. Bastard.

OK, we're winding down. It's the end of the 1/2 hour & it's time to start the "cool-down." I will get this. I WILL GET THIS PART IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO. And you know what? I did! I got it! But the bastard did the cool-down to "Climb Every Mountain" from the Sound of Music. So, not only am I an uncoordinated fool... I have been singing that stinkin' song for 3 hours now. Bastard.

Tomorrow, I'm brining out the Jane Fonda tape. I know the routine & the songs have no words. Surely, I will return to a spiritual pillar tomorrow morning.....