So I decided to do something about the fact that my bathroom scale breaks into delirium tremors every time I thunk by, what with the fact that all my TRAVEL meant eating OUT, not to mention my penchant for a daily, dainty hit of chocolate. (Alright, it got so I was snorting the stuff--Mars bars, imitation chocolate chips, frozen brownies, hot fudge sauce right from the jar, it didnÕt matter...) It was time to get into shape.

Since I like to swim, I headed for the pool at the Bigfork Athletic Club, where I decided to participate in water aerobics. This is highly unusual for my independent (burp) nature, and rather risky, being as how I should be arrested for showing up in public in my grape colored bathing suit now that I am as big as a '59 Pontiac. Make that a Pontiac station wagon.

Thinking myself far too hip (as in: too much hip being my problem...if you get my drift) to join those sissies in the weight room or to bunny hop in the pool with all those less intrepid beginners and intermediates, I opted for "advanced aqua" as my exercise of choice. I did not take into consideration the law of physics which applies to seriously overweight mature women, and can be found in the Advanced Aqua Tormentor's Training Manual: When a menopausal woman of the way too much width for her height enters pool, she will bob in the water like a cork in the River Thames. These types are best fitted with Campbell soup cans, barbells, and boat anchors to help them stay in place during advanced aqua maneuvers or they will float away to Great Falls. I floated.

My advanced aqua instructor eyed me warily, perplexed, I am sure, at how to diplomatically convince me to go to the weight room or join the beginner's class. I pulled in my stomach. Actually, I pulled in my stomach and my bottom popped up, causing me to splay face first in the water. I broke my fall with both arms, which I whirled about in a snazzy flyswatter motion. My instructor, whom I shall refer to as Xena-the-Iron-Woman, had to be convinced that the hairy eggplant bobbing in the pool was Olympic material. I looked like a baby Beluga with feet. I pulled in my stomach again, this time crashing sideways, wherein I swallowed a quart of water. Through my nose. A perky blonde jumped into the pool next to me. Great. Now I was swimming with Barbie. She eyed me warily.

Iron Woman put on music. Do what I do! She yelled. In the water. Nonstop. For an hour. Puuussshhh! against the water! Feeeeelllll the resistance! All I felt were my feet slipping out from under me and a sharp jab to the jaw every time I managed to pick your knees up to your chest! and squeeeeeze it out! My poor fat heart was doing the Indy 500.

Barbie didn't even break a sweat. Barbie's hair wasn't even wet! I thrashed about like a Maytag gone berserk, my spin cycle on tilt! Now I looked like I went over Niagara in a pickle barrel. Work those obliques! Take your feet off the bottom and tread! Feet off the bottom? No problem. Maybe if I'm nice to those he-men in the weight room they'll throw me a barbell.