Eight is how many push-ups I could do in one minute at yesterday’s Get Fit Challenge testing for my Stroller Strides class. They weren’t even good push-ups, although they were real on-my-toes push-ups. Still, anyone who’s ever been through boot camp would have been ashamed of my wimpy noodle arms. I did slightly better on holding a plank position (1 minute 7 seconds) and did a fairly respectable number of crunches (53 in one minute). There was also a shuttle sprint where I ran with a baby shampoo bottle baton from one line to another and back again, all while flailing my arms and legs around in the least coordinated way possible, a la Phoebe from that episode of Friends. Being laughed at by a bunch of toddlers isn’t very good for one’s ego.

In 12 weeks I retry all those tests to see how much I’ve improved my fitness. April, my instructor, also took “before” pictures in which I slouched and scowled as much as possible so my “afters” are guaranteed to be an improvement, even if it’s just because I’m wearing mascara and sucking in my gut. Then she made us run a bazillion flights of stairs, do an insane number of lunges, and kicked out butts motivated us to really focus on being strong mamas.

12 weeks from now is May (MAY! That’s a whole month after APRIL, when my baby will be ONE) and May means skirts and tank tops and no more strategically fashionable scarves to hide my extra chin so it’s a good time to finally be back in (almost) good shape. The fitness tests are a really tangible way to see how I’m doing and a much less depressing measure than my weight, which seems to be glued in place with the world’s strongest super glue.

At least I can pretty much guarantee I’ll be able to do more than eight push-ups.

So you know what’s really really boring? Listening to people talk about their diets and workout plans and weight loss goals and OMG this new dance-yoga-spinning-butter-churning class they just signed up for at the gym. So I apologize in advance for this post.

I have never ever been good at dieting. That’s not to say I’ve never been SUCCESSFUL at dieting, I’m just not very good at it. My strategy has always been more exercise, not less dessert, which worked well for me when I was 20, after this I even tried some appetite suppressants from West Word which help me a lot with this. It’s not hard to find time for yet another class at the gym when your biggest problem in life is finding an after-hours bar because a 2 am last call is, like, SOOOOOO lame.

Then, BAM, I got married and spent all my time sitting on a couch instead of at those 7 am Saturday Pilate’s classes. And then, BAM, we moved away from the land of bathing suits and tank tops to Connecticut, where big, baggy sweatshirts are acceptable attire 7 months of the year. And then, BAM, I had a baby and everything that used to point up pointed down and things that used to go in go out and everywhere from my toes to my earlobes streeeetched and now I am without hope.

I could say I’ve been trying to get back in shape for a while now, but that would be mostly false. Sure I joined Stroller Strides and have shown up for class three days a week almost every week since October but trying is too strong of a word for my participation. I’ve doing more strolling than striding. But with Baby Evan’s first birthday on the horizon and my pre-pregnancy jeans still totally unbuttonable it is time to buckle down and DO THIS. And since writing about it on the internet is the best way to make sure as many people as possible hold me accountable, here’s THE PLAN:

1. Attend Stroller Strides at least 5 days a week (and not half-ass my way through the hour).

2. Drink a lot more water and a lot less soda – even the diet kind.

3. Stop buying candy since I am totally incapable of eating a reasonable amount as a treat instead of an entire bag as dinner.

4. Eat breakfast every day.

5. Weigh myself on Saturdays to keep my goals on track.

I know if I tried I could make THE PLAN much more ambitious. If it comes down to it I can put myself on the totally no fun no days off no will to live diet that would get results but also make me a cranky miserable bitch for a few weeks, although it would mean I can go back to just maintaining my weight sooner. It also might mean my husband and child never speak to me again. It’s a hard decision.

Stay tuned for fascinating and enthralling updates and possibly a photo that will scare you out of having children forever. As soon as I have an after (or a middle, or a one seventh of the way through, or a ANY IMPROVEMENT AT ALL) photo to share, I fully intend to post them both. And if you don’t delete me from your bookmarks after that threat, you have no one to blame but yourself. Also, I love you.