12 Weeks

You know how I mentioned the other day that I was dieting (whee) and that I’d discovered smoothies (yay!) and given up red wine (boo)?

Well, almost immediately after writing that post, I did something a little … crazy.

Okay, “crazy” is a strong word. “Completely and totally out of character” might be a better way to put it.

Let me back up.

July, 2011.

There I am, lounging at the beach.  Nearby (but not too close – maintaining a respectful space distance) there is a woman basking in the sun, working on her tan. She is fit.  Super fit. ANNOYINGLY FIT. I immediately dub her “JWoww” out of simple snarkiness.

We begin seeing her every week. She parks her chair near us and … well, I’m going to use the word “preens” here, although I don’t think it’s super accurate.  She stretches out her (perfectly toned) self on her chair, rubs lotion on her (completely muscular) self,  plugs in her earbuds, and essentially radiates health, albeit the kind that is exposing itself to skin cancer.

Have I mentioned that I find her infuriating?

Because I do.

Granted, I have a few more miles on the old chassis than JWoww does – I’m probably a good ten years older than she is – and I am always of the mindset that a woman of my particular vintage can’t compete with a 20-something. Because the 20-something? Is ALWAYS going to win.

But still. She has ABS.

And I have … um. Well, I’m sure I have abs SOMEWHERE.

You know, underneath the stuff that’s on my stomach that is NOT ABS.

Right.

So one fine summer morning, my bestest beach buddy (AKA Flinkie) and I were sitting there, contemplating the gloriousness of a life lived at the beach, when JWoww sauntered past.

And of course, I said something stupid. Something like, “I could totally get in shape.”

“Right,” Flinkie said, supportively.

“I could. I could completely get in shape and rock a bikini next year.”

Flinkie wisely said nothing.  “Well, I COULD.” I said.

And then I DID something stupid. Of course.

I BOUGHT a bikini.

And swore that next summer? Come hell or high water, it would be worn to the beach.

January, 2012.

You would think that, after purchasing the bikini and vowing to knock JWoww off of her beach chair, I would have begun exercising.

You would think that.

You would be wrong.

Because, after all, there was no way I was going to be in the bikini last summer. No way no how no sir. So I might as well continue eating cheez-its with impunity. And exercising? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH no.

But now I’m realizing – um, I might have some work to do before I can go to the beach.

Just a smidgen. A tiny bit.

Yeaaaaaaaaah.

So that’s when I signed on for a 12 week, diet and fitness challenge. See, there was this book. With 12 weeks of diet and exercise chronicle-ability.  12 weeks? I thought. I can do 12 weeks. That will take me into April and then I can reassess the bathing suit situation. And maybe find a hint of an ab. Or something.

So yeah. 12 weeks. 12 boozeless, diet makeover-y, going to the gymmish weeks.

You should start praying for me now, I think.

And you should definitely pray for JWoww. Because I’m planning on kicking her bikini-clad butt.