Obviously something needed to be done.
Considering the outstanding success of our Hilly Hundred biking ordeal, we decided as a couple that we should stay inside our house and attempt to achieve our fitness goals in private. At least nobody would laugh at us in our living room as long as we kept the curtains closed.
And then we did what any normal fat American couple would do. We leaned back in our matching recliners - and peered over our mounded bellies and watched infomercials to find solutions to our problems.
Of course it didn't take long to meet the guy who had all the answers. His name was Shaun T and he said all the right things.
"It's about TIME," he said.
"Twenty-five minutes a day is all you need."
"This is my gym, and you're gonna work. I'm gonna get you to where you wanna be."
He had some serious enthusiasm. Plus anyone who speaks to a chubby midwestern couple and uses the words 'gonna' and 'wanna' is, without a doubt, a trustworthy guy.
As the voice of reason in our household (disturbing as that may be) I had a talk with Seth. I was kind and tactful.
"Listen pork chop...we are ridiculous," I said. I absentmindedly flipped the saggy wad of cream cheese blubber hanging under my chin, and it began to swing from side to side. "It's all downhill from 50, so if we want any quality of life before we shrivel up and die then we better lose the lard."
"Don't we have a whole bunch of fitness videos?" he asked.
"Yes. If only we would do them. But they are too LONG."
"Fine. I'll do whatever it takes," he said.
I called the toll-free number on the TV screen and placed my order. We got free express shipping, so we were just a few days from starting our 60-day journey to extreme fitness.
But a journey of this magnitude does not always begin smoothly.
I will tell you about that the next time ...
To Be Continued ...
Theresa Timmons' column appears every first and third Sunday. She is an Elwood resident and can be reached at email@example.com.