Yes, there are many responses to the above statement I know but I'm relatively serious today. I'm appealing to all you nice people to help me answer a question that's burning a hole in my mind:

Why am I killing myself with exercise to no avail?

I mean don't get me wrong, I enjoy my Shallow Water aerobics classes and the elliptical machine and the free weights. Some day I will also enjoy my Pilates dvds (I keep saying I'm going to get around to them, but the dogs always bounce on me like I'm a Trampoline of Fun when I plop my fat ass on the floor so it's a little distracting) but for now I think I've got a nice bit of variation on the go.

I'm averaging four days a week in the pool; today was one of those days. And oh yes? Remind me never to go to the rec center for a class on the weekends, mmkay? Everyone's there for a big ol' coffee clache or a fish fry or a quilting bee, certainly not to achieve anything. They paddle around and splash half-heartedly and yakkity-yak-yak-yak until I want to strangle them with a pool noodle. I know I'm not offending anyone who's reading this because all you lovely people understand the concept of consideration for others in a public forum, don't you? See, I knew it. It must just be the boobs at my local place.

So, I get out of the pool feeling much better than I did before I got in. That was largely to do with Courtney's class last Thursday where she took my flabby body and put it through the wringer. I'm sore in places I didn't know I could be sore. But everytime I've groaned as I rise from my chair or my legs screamed bloody murder at me as I crouched down to peek in the oven I've been secretly pleased with my ability to stick out this form of exercise; I just know it will come to some good in the end.

Then I look in the mirror.

I was just going to put my wet hair in a pony before heading home, so I whipped around the corner and into the washroom where I came face to face with The Big Girl. It's not me, it can't be. I threw up the ponytail as quickly as is humanly possible and hightailed it outta there, feeling like a big blob schlumping my way out to the Jeep. Honestly, is my body image so poor that my brain will always show me what I think I look like whenever I dare to venture near any reflective surface? Am I not right in the cabesa?

And one last thing: All this talk about being energized after a workout? Is rubbish in my books. I want a cold drink and a soft bed in which to lay my weary bones. I have never, ever in all my years of exercise felt this so-called flush of energy and I think it's a ruse cooked up by all the instructors and exercise equipment salespeople out there to entice us to work toward this elusive state of being. I think it's a scam, it's a flim-flam thing for those of us who do not possess a total of 4% body fat. And yes, there are days when I think it's just plain mean.

So, pretty people, please assure me I'm actually working toward a goal. Because I've never really liked The Big Girl and wish she would go away.

Posted at 3:04 p.m.