“You never finish anything you start!”

“What about the PTA?”

“You quit!”

“Well, that was just because it conflicted with Save the Whales.”

“Uh huh. Then what happened?”

“Well, I, uh, thought Hands Across America was more important.”

“Well I rest my case!”

I’m really awesome at the whole starting part. Because, well, that is the easy part; the fun part. I get pumped about joining the gym, looking at all the shiny equipment that it going to give me Jessica Biel’s arms. I get pumped about all of the great upbeat music I am going to download. I get pumped about water bottles and spandex and sports bras and tank tops that say witty things like “I am a slave to pilates!”

Pumped, of course, until.

The first cold.

The first heel ache.

The first blister.

The first time my favorite yoga pants are in the wash.

The first flu.

The first snowstorm.

The first time I find myself in the kitchen standing at the counter eating 5 pancakes, 2 pieces of 12-grain bread, 4 scrambled eggs and 9 slices of fake bacon.

I am not even kidding. 

I started exercising again. For my heart. For my body. For my kids. 

I know you’re thinking, “Well, here we go again. This is going to end like, well, like that time or 14 you joined the gym and quit or that time you did the 18-day shred or that time you even almost ran a half-marathon and trained until the bitter end and then, well, just didn’t run because of something like bleeding feet or that time you went and got yourself a full-time job and couldn’t figure out how to fit regular exercise into your routine. WE HAVE SEEN THIS BEFORE, ALI. JUST CUT THE SHENANIGANS RIGHT NOW.”

But, well, remember what happened with Phyllis?

That’s right. She found her groove in the form of a khaki-colored silk shirt and a hunter green kerchief. She was a goddammed awesome troop leader to those girls from Beverly Hills.

(Beverly Hills, what a thrill!)

So, that’s that.

It’s the elliptical. 40 minutes. 4 times a week.

It’s working. I feel great. I am less anxious. I am less tired. I am less lethargic. I burn more calories each time.

I just really wish I wasn’t eating every single piece of food in my kitchen that wasn’t nailed down. You guys, it’s beyond ridiculous. I can’t even make it to dinner. Last night I was eating the whole grain lasagna noodles faster than I was able to put them in the 9×13 pyrex. String cheese, a handful of peanuts, yogurt, celery and hummus, carrots. I cannot stop. My appetite is insatiable.

Someone please tell me that this stops.

Because I’m fairly certain that the scale is moving in the wrong direction. 

Also, can someone recommend some good music for me. My iphone yells at me every time I try to ellipticize to MY MUSIC. Apparently, singer-songwriter indie rock isn’t the stuff of great workouts (Who knew?) and there’s only so much Glee music a girl can listen to before her dog starts running for the hills.