Quickfail

Dear Kim Kardashian:

I didn't want to like you, but you managed to win me over with your unexpected sweetness and willingness to answer almost any question. And I must say that current boyfriend Reggie Bush is a vast improvement over your ex, Ray-J, whose popularity with the ladies continues to baffle me.

What really impressed me was your interview with Muscle & Fitness Hers. You came across like a normal woman who has worked hard to get in shape and stay there. Your frustration with the wafer-thin beauty standard in L.A. was palpable, and I like how you are representing for women who are not shaped like 12-year-old boys — all while working hard in the gym to keep the junk in the trunk from overflowing. Heck, I was inspired. I told my friend H. that I was going to keep you in mind when that last running interval/Arnold press/lunge seemed too difficult to complete.

But then you and your sister Khloe cooked up some weight-loss product called Quicktrim, a "cleanse" that you plan to market and sell. First, there's that name. Why perpetuate the lie that body transformation is a quick and easy process? The last thing people need is more sketchy information and false hope about permanent weight loss. And you must know that, somewhere in the back of their minds, the women who plan to buy this stuff are hoping that it will make their bodies look like yours — fine print, be damned.

Judging from the reaction from fitness-loving types, this hasn't exactly bolstered your credibility. (Although you are a long, long way from "fat," the last resort of haters.) That's too bad, because it was refreshing to hear some real talk about nutrition and exercise from someone who appeared to be in the trenches with the rest of us — that is, if we were rich and worked out with Gunnar Peterson. You know what I mean.

Still, Reggie Bush? Major upgrade.

Sincerely,
EDP

She's Got Legs

If you're a woman of a certain age in Tallahassee, you have to be OK with seeing uber-fit, gorgeous, (much) younger women all the time. In a town with two universities and a community college, they're a given; a fact of life. A friend in her 50s told me that I'd eventually get to a point where I'd stop seeing them through competitive eyes and regarding them in the fashion of a lovely painting or vase of flowers.

It started happening somewhere around my 37th birthday. Maybe it's because I was out of the breeding game or reasonably certain that my husband wasn't going to leave his family for a psychology major named Destiny. But ever since then, when I see a pretty young woman (inevitably) jogging down the street, my first thought is usually, "She's adorable! I hope she doesn't think she's fat."

That is, 99 percent of the time. I am human, and every blue moon, I see someone so outrageously fit/attractive that I want to drop what I'm doing and find a 24-hour gym that also offers plastic surgery. One such moment came Friday night, when the husband and I were hanging out with friends at a new wine bar. A mini-skirted woman with the best legs this side of 2000-era Britney Spears walked in, and we muttered a collective "Holy shit." I can't even hate, because it was clear that Hot Gams (left) has a serious workout game. Even when I was 22, my legs did not look like this.

I'm sure she and her friends wondered why some suburban mom was pointing a camera in their direction, but the moment had to be documented. Identities have been protected, though if it were me, I would want the world to know.

Helen Mirren: 63 And Smoking

I'm prepared to accept that actress Dame Helen Mirren, at 63, has access to trainers, chefs and plastic surgeons that mere mortals can only dream of. And, OK, she has never had any children, which have a way of rearranging your body after you give birth to them. Only she knows for sure, but Mirren doesn't strike me as the kind of woman who is interested in pretending she's 40. She looks like a mature woman, and I mean that in the best possible way. Frankly, I think she's hot. Some time back, I put her on my list of Women I Might Switch Teams For Under Different Circumstances. But that is a topic for another day.

So I was not incredibly surprised to learn that she was the face behind the bikini-clad body on tabloid covers (screaming headline: "She's 63!") While Madonna's 50-plus body is the stuff of legend, it's a little too scary-intimidating for my taste. She could probably snap me like a twig, despite weighing only 15 pounds. Mirren's body is more striking in that it is trim yet womanly in all the right places. She looks like she works out but still drinks a glass of wine or has a cupcake every now and then.

Now to make this about me: Today, a very fit person stunned me by saying, "OK, you are looking trim. I can see your clavicle!" In rapid succession, her assistant said, "Your pants are too big!" Now, no one is going to bumrush me on the street and demand to know the name of my trainer anytime soon, but - can I say it? - my work seems to be paying off. A person just meeting me wouldn't be impressed, like, at all, but anyone who has known me for more than a year can see a different EDP emerging. I have a long, long way to go, but I am beginning to do certain things automatically - like saying, "I am going to work out today" and meaning it, whether I want to or not. I can make good decisions about food without being bitter ("But I want the fried ones!"). My daughter routinely asks, "Mommy, did you exercise today?"

Maybe if I keep it up, I will have a snowball's chance in hell of looking like the fabulous Dame Helen Mirren when I am not 63, but 43. I'd consider that a victory.

The Next Level

In general, I've been very happy with the progress I've made with personal fitness over the last six months. More than a few people have noticed the weight loss, and in many ways, I feel better than I have in a long time. My feet no longer hurt at the end of the day, and my shoulders aren't all knotted up with tension. I sleep better, have more patience with my kids and (best of all), I can buy a few things from the Misses section — and they fit. Believe me, that is a very big deal.

But sometimes, I'm confronted by the fact that I have a long way to go. For starters, I'm still overweight. Nothing to do there but continue eating wisely and keep going to the gym and to the pool. I mean, I can wear shorts without scaring people, but it still kinda sucks. I know we're not supposed to compare ourselves with others, but everybody goes there sometimes. And I have a habit of picking the smallest, leanest women to measure myself against.

I've been talking to a friend about training to run a 5K, but the internal voices of mockery have already piped up. They became especially vicious when I read a copy Runner's World magazine over the weekend. The magazine was accessible and full of helpful tips for new runners, but by the time I slunk out of Borders, I felt like I might as well consider taking up competitive gymnastics.

For completely illogical reasons, I have always thought of running as something I can't do. I associate it with thin people who have a high tolerance for pain — people like my husband, who thinks a five-mile run is "fun." Or like my friend H., who is incredibly disciplined about fitness and goal-oriented. Obviously, I have a some discipline and pain tolerance, or I wouldn't be dragging my ass out of bed a 5;05 a.m. to work out. But running seems to exist at some other "Chariots of Fire" level.

My husband says this is silly; that anybody with decent knees, shoes and gumption can become a runner. He claims I've overcome much larger obstacles, if not physical ones. Then he starts saying crazy things like, "It's 90-percent mental."

Hmmm. Don't cue Vangelis just yet.

Stacey Dash: Like, Whoa

Stacey Dash (Cher from "Clueless") is one of those women I look at and think, "Why didn't she have a bigger career?" Maybe she isn't Alfre Woodard, but she's drop-dead gorgeous and has a certain presence. God knows there are plenty of successful actresses coasting on less. If she were a young actress in Hollywood today, I think she'd have a better shot.

Did I mention that she's 41? Forty. One.

I know I ranted a few days ago about how people act as though an attractive woman over 30 is a rarity — especially if she's a mom, as Dash is. I also realize that King magazine may have employed a bit of Photoshop when processing this June 2008 cover shot and the accompanying inside photos. And yes, she probably has more time to work out than the average woman and blah, blah, blabbity blah. But still. Holy crap.

I was browsing magazines in Borders last week when a herd of enthusiastic, young males opposite me grabbed this issue and proceeded to drool upon it. Suffice to say that they were very (and loudly) appreciative of Ms. Dash's image. In fact, when I told my husband the story, all he heard was, "Stacy Dash is on the cover of King magazine." When she was in that Kanye West video a few years back, my friend J. and I talked about how our husbands would stop whatever they were doing when it came on. As in, they would wordlessly stare at the screen while she ran through an airport in a little strapless dress. So I knew it was just a matter of time before that issue of King turned up in our house.

And I'm not hating, because as J. once put it, "Girl, what can you say? Some people are just gifted."

Madge's Thighs Continue Reign of Intimidation

The most intriguing thing about Madonna's "4 Minutes" video isn't the way she holds her own while dancing with Justin Timberlake or the peep-my-innards special effects. It's her thighs. Granted, the woman is a former dancer who, along with Sting, is a walking advertisement for serious yoga. And I realize it's part of her job to look that way. But when you consider that she is almost 50 and has birthed two children — well, words fail.

I'm wary of using celebrities as inspiration for anything. I know I am not destined to have those kinds of legs, no matter how much I work out or how much white flour I avoid. However, I'll take any motivation I can find to make it through a tough, tedious workout, bringing me one step closer to being able to wear shorts again. Why, I think I feel bad haiku coming on!

Madonna's sleek thighs

Where is the telltale jiggle?

To the gym I go.

Mental Potholes

The good news is that I've stuck to my workout routine for a month and a half now. I haven't missed a single 5:30 a.m. traning session, no matter how much I didn't want to get up or how cold/rainy it was that day. At this point, I know that serious exercise will always make the beginning of my day better — and that each session is a step toward a healthier (OK, hotter) body. I told my husband that once I reached my goal weight, I was going to walk down our street in some little shorts and red pumps ala Beyonce's "Crazy in Love" while he rapped in the background. I think I was kidding.

Still, there are potholes along the way.

The worst thing you can do when you're making a positive lifestyle change is to compare yourself to others. Unfortunately, I have a Ph.D. in it. Now, I've gone down a dress size, and even my mom had something nice to say about my weight trend. I've been eating mindfully and healthfully, and I can see a definite difference in the way I look. Yay. Good for me.

Then I gazed upon the photo of a lovely friend (who has had two children like me) and she was rocking a bikini. She looked frickin' fantastic. In her defense, she has been fitness-minded her entire life, has to-die-for genes and will probably be the flyest woman ever to grace a retirement home in 55 years. And yet, I was torn between chaining myself to the treadmill or blowing it up. Because it struck me that, as much progress as I've made, it's going to take a lot more time and work before I enter that ZIP code.

Again, I know that has nothing to do with my fitness journey. I'm OK; you're OK, etc. Or whatever. I'm going to eat my vegetarian frozen entree now.