daily body smackdown...

I'm fed up.

I'm not fed. I'm just fed up.

I can't get away from news programs, advertisements, commercials, flyer's and event flyer's all telling me basically 'You're fat. And we can help you.'

I wouldn't mind losing a pound or two or ten...aw, hell. Maybe twenty for extra measure. But if I do, it's because I want to. Not because I've been coerced or guilted into it.

Every single time I turn on the television there is Julian Michael's hawking her exercise regimen and diet supplements. Interestingly enough she is being sued for false advertising for the same weight loss supplement. Cashing in on her fame, she joined forces to sell worthless diet pills at $40 a pop. But the class action suit is for $5 million...Julian, put that in your weight belt and eat it.

What about Nutrisystem with Marie Osmond? Can her eyelashes get any faker or her hair any bigger? That's the rule with celebrity endorsed weight loss programs. Wear excessive makeup and big hair. Add to that stilleto heels and some horribly flashy garb and well, it makes the rest of you appear smaller. They really want me to believe that she eats their food to lose her extra weight?....Yeah, right. And she lives in a mansion on that swamp land I bought the last time I jumped on the '120 delicious foods' Nutrisystem bandwagon.

Or better yet, 'One Day at a Time' sister, Valerie Bertenelli, selling the Jenny Craig dream. That's all fine and good. But that commercial with the gal that just lost 5 pounds and wants to know if her mascara is waterproof because she's going to cry? They lost me there. It annoys the hell out of me. Really? 5 pounds? I understand that they are trying to make it 'let's not set our goals too high'... But c'mon. That commercial makes me want to boycott all things Jenny Craig.

Let's face it.

Losing weight isn't easy. It take diligence and hard work.

Usually.

Back in 2001 I lost 43 pounds. I didn't need to. I didn't really want to. It just happened. I started losing weight and the next thing you know, none of my clothes fit. I was buying size 0. Yeah...I said that right. Z-E-R-O. And some of those didn't fit all that well. They were a little baggy. I'm 5'6". It wasn't pretty.

When I was 120lbs....I looked good. That there's my fightin' weight.

I could put anything on and look fabulous. But at 100lbs? No sir. I looked ill.

Granted, I was going through a divorce and I just couldn't eat. Seriously. I couldn't. The weight just fell off. And then slowly I stabilized. The antidepressants my doctor prescribed for me started putting the weight back on even without my eating. Then I didn't need those any more and I stayed the same for quite some time.

Like most women, I fluctuate with weight. There is a song by Lyle Lovett called "Good Intentions' croons "The temporary weight gain due to excess water retention...It's just a fact of life, that no one cares to mention." That's me.

I mean, he wasn't singing about me, but was singing about me.

Guys don't have to deal with that. Lucky bastards. So they don't quite understand what we go through. But lately for each 5 temporary pounds put on, I only lose 4 9/12. Doesn't sound like much, does it. But it is....do the math. That's 2 pounds a year. I'm presently at a size that takes very little effort to maintain. I'm not going to be modeling for Hawaiian Tropic or anything, but people don't run screaming in the opposite direction when I approach either.

Sometimes I see some rather heavy people in outfits that I wouldn't wear in the house, let alone out in public. Something inside me shouts, "Cover that shit up!" when you see a 200+ lb woman baring her midriff or wearing a mini-skirt. And then another softer side of me thinks, "That's cool, she has such body confidence."

Or maybe she might not own a mirror.

One second thought, by the look of her hair, it is indeed due to lack of a mirror.

In comparison, I look like a runway model.

My friend has a cousin that runs. She doesn't just run, she runs marathons. She thinks it's fun. I find it exhausting just listening to her talk about her running.

I like her. I really do. I admire her. And I admire her commitment.

I used to run. I used to run a lot. Used to. Past tense.

I enjoyed it as well. I was in excellent shape. And then I blew my knee out skiing. I swear it's never quite been the same since. If I run too much, it tweaks my knee and then I'm in pain for a month. I'd rather do something that doesn't aggravate it too much. Why push it? There are other physical activities that I can get involved with that will leave my delicate cartilage at peace.

I saw her at a gathering around October and she had gotten that P90X. It works. Of that I'm sure. If you have the commitment to do it. Which she does. And which I don't.

When I saw her in November, again I ambled into a conversation going on and it was all about P90X. At the Christmas party as I went over to get another cocktail she was standing in the kitchen talking to someone about...guess what? P90X.

I would love to transform my body into a work of art. Muscular art. But I don't have that much time to devote to an extreme workout everyday, nor the time to shower then afterwards. I just don't. I want to...but it's hard enough working in all the things on my calender already.

Now I can almost hear some of you saying, "But you CAN. Just change your schedule."

I wish I could. I've been running behind the eight ball for so long. Squeezing things in here and there. Not enough time for such a rigorous fitness program.

Right now.

Although I do have their website listed as one of my search favorites. Maybe I might just take the 90 day challenge. I did just get that new Victoria's Secret Swim Catalog. I bet there might be something in there I might like. Fact is, I'm sure of it.

I read the other day that Demi Moore does a daily body assessment.

She stands naked in front of a 3 way mirror and looks at her entire body to see what needs to be worked on and what looks good.

Every day.

But her job depends on her looking good. Hell, her job is to look good. She has the time and the energy and the commitment to look like she does. And all the money to back it up as well.

Let's not mention the little hottie husband, Ashton baby, to boot who is a smackdown 16 years her junior. I think if I had to live and sleep with Ashton, I'd make it my priority too to look as damn hot as I could.

My brain has too much respect for my fragile ego to allow me a daily mirror assessment of that intensity. There are some things that should be left unscruntized. I do wish to be able to address the world with some sort of head held high decorum, after all. Demi's ritual might well be the end of Nancy as we know her if introduced into the household itinerary.

I'm not excited about getting older, but yet I'm relatively okay with it. I don't want to destroy my looks like I personally feel Meg Ryan has done. She was adorable. And now she's just...well, like all those other gals getting older and trying desperately to not. Botox, plastic surgery, implants, liposuction. I am bombarded with images of these women not growing old gracefully daily.

I just want to feel good.

About me.

Without the pressure of pleasing anyone but myself.

But how much is that P90X? Because that little black bikini is killer. And 120 is my fightin' weight...

I could so rock that.

Where's my debit card.

:-)