There must be some sort of chemical imbalance in my brain because apparently I have morphed into the Jehovah's Witness of exercise.

I may need an intervention.

Saturday my buddy Eddie threw his semi annual Gemini Party, a celebration of what is clearly the best astrological sign, since I was born under it. There were 50 or 60 of us there at his place basking in sun, BBQ, a huge table of potluck goodness, all accompanied by the reggae stylings of a band from Montreal called Jab Jab.

It would have been absolutely perfect if I had not been forced to bring my own car since the spousal unit was occupied for part of the afternoon. Sadly, since I was driving, I had to drink responsibly. You can well imagine my pain.

My daughter gave me a lovely little black spandex spaghetti-strapped tee shirt for my birthday this year, a shirt I could not have worn last year. Last year I had a case of kimono arm so severe that one stiff breeze and I would have floated away like a kite or a flying squirrel.

While I think we can all agree that would have been quite a sight to behold, the bean counters at MarnCo (the ruthless multinational behind The Big Adventure) nixed that quickly. Insurance concerns. The word "liabilities" was tossed around.

Nope, no revealing tops for me last year. Last year was The Year We Keep The Upper Arms Completely Covered Up, thankyewverymuch. Last year the chador looked like a good fashion choice.

Ah, but this year?

This year my arms, they have the muscles. They have definition. While they are not perfect, I would totally marry my arms because they Have Possibilities. I wore the black spandex spaghetti-strapped tee shirt without a second thought.

The arms, they did not go unremarked. During the afternoon several women my age sidled over and sotto voce inquired into what goes into vanquishing kimono arm.

Now what I am going to tell you is particularly embarrassing because in no way can I blame what transpired on alcohol since I only had two beer all afternoon. No, what I did I did completely sober, proving yet again that no matter what your age, You Are Never Too Old To Be A Dork.

Are you ready for this?

I gave exercise demonstrations.

Yes, yes, I dragged these poor, unsuspecting women off to an obscure corner of the party and demonstrated tricep dips and two arm pullovers among other things.

Had I had small coloured pamphlets like The Watchtower, except with arm exercises, I sweartogawd would have handed them out in a heart beat.

Heaven help me, but I have begun to proselytize the benefits of exercise, water, and eating properly, and not just out here in cyberspace but in meatspace as well.

You can well imagine my horror when the realization hit me. It's one thing to chip away at changing my own life. Actively trying to convert others to my Own True Path? Hmmmm.

So, like I said, I'm thinking an intervention is not far off in my future. Clearly, I need help and I need it fast.

Tomorrow I hit the chronological half way point in the Going Nowhere collaboration. As of today, I have logged 485.09 miles, which will leave me a tad short of the 500 miles I need to be half way to my 1,000 mile pledge for this year. You'll notice that several people in the collaboration are well, well over that distance already.

I hate their guts.

Oh. Wait. Did I say that out loud?

Ignore that. Also ignore the whimpering sound that you hear in the background. I've got to suck it up a bit and push a little harder if I hope to make goal by year's end.

You know, there's a lot to be said for making yourself publicly accountable for your goals. It certainly makes it infinitely more difficult to kid yourself about how you're doing.

Too bad that sometimes reality bites.

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 485.09 miles.
Oh man. This is going to be hard
Goal for 2004: 1,000 miles - 1609 kilometers