Mamela announced today that Spring is starting earlier this year; that is, we set the clocks ahead in March instead of April. While delighted at the prospect of longer days coming earlier than expected, I was also thrown into a momentary panic about my s-l-o-w-l-y evolving state of physical fitness. Spring begets Summer and well, that means that evil shadow of the destroyer of all confidence looms. That's right--the swimsuit. I have already bleated like a moulting goat that I will slither with ease into that ice blue Calvin Klein bikini (yes, the one that has not been worn for four years) once the dog days of summer arrive. Holy shit.

I somehow seemed convinced that a few days of working out and rigid dieting during the week (you'll note I did not include the weekend here) would translate into an instant sleekness. That does not appear to be the case. Yes, some inroads are being made and my body seems like it's changing, but not quite in the way I had imagined. Kickboxing is marvelous cardio exercise, but it's also making my shoulders bulkier and my calves thicker. Resembling a mud wrestler was really not my goal. I was really hoping more for Jennifer Garner in her "Alias" days.

After the wonderful gastronomic indulgences and copious glasses of wine during Hollaback Girl's weekend visit, I really had to take serious stock today. The strict weekday diet now must be the strict weekend diet. I've pushed up my kickboxing classes to four times a week. I can't cheat on the crunches once they go past the 40 count anymore. When the Joshu says, "Push yourself and feel the pain!" I will have to feel the pain. And like it. Lastly, I didn't want to do it, but I may have to start running on the weekends again. Jesus, Mary and Joseph--this is a bitch.

I am disciplined by nature, but I love my comforts too. While that damned bikini looms as an incentive (which I paid too much for anyway), I have to dangle above it an even greater reward. That would be a plate of fried chicken from Charles Southern Kitchen. Somehow the promise of a platter of deep fried golden bliss is just the thing to get this slowly evolving ass in gear.