I watch enough television to occasionally get caught up in hype, and is there a better word to describe the Olympics, "Dancing with the Stars," and, of course, the Oscars? I think not.

But unlike my millions of TV-addict friends out there, I gain special motivation when sucked in by the boob-tube. For example, with each swish of a skinny reality-show has-been's gown on "Dancing," I was inspired to lose 40 pounds and take up the tango.

I'm probably not alone in my fantasies of fitness; after all, doesn't watching itty-bitty women on "Desperate Housewives" make you yearn for an 800-calorie-a-day diet and two-hour training sessions?

Like many people, I watched the Winter Olympics in awe. The ultimate extreme sport to me was the skeleton. Simply put, the skeleton features a single rider in an aerodynamically-correct one-piece skin suit speeding 80 miles an hour head first on what looks like a boogie board with skids.

"He looks so relaxed," purred the commentator on my television screen. "He's not relaxed," was what I muttered out loud. In my expert opinion, I think the poor thing was petrified with fear and couldn't move.

I recall calling my friends Kate and Karen after one particularly moving Olympics moment to suggest that we start training for the three-women bobsled. We could arrive in style in Vancouver for the 2008 Olympics with our own banner declaring "Fabulous Felines Facing Fifty."

The Olympics wasn't where my dreams of greatness ended. "Dancing with the Stars" temporarily inspired me to drop my pint of Ben & Jerry's and ponder exercise. I dreamed of waltzing, complete with debonair partner in tuxedo. In my mind's eye, the two of us ever so lightly twirled across the stage - me without an inch of cellulite, him in his 30-year-old, full-head-of-hair glory.

I was most tempted by the tango. Is there anything more sensual and erotic than this dance? I am still trying to learn to suck in my stomach long enough to get through one lesson. Maybe in a year or so I'll be competent enough to learn the steps.

"Doesn't watching itty-bitty women on 'Desperate Housewives' make you yearn for an 800-calorie-a-day diet and two-hour training sessions?"

The Academy Awards was the final straw for me. Dozens of picture-perfect bodies clothed in dresses that hugged every curve, showed perfect cleavage, toned arms and long, thin legs. Don't these women ever eat? They probably jog all the time and "forget" mealtime altogether. Don't you just hate it when skinny women say, "Oh dear, I forgot to eat?" I could be eye-deep in senility, totally crazy, and never forget to eat.

After all this TV motivation, I faced the reality that my clothes were not shrinking as they hung in my closet; it was time for action. I joined a diet system that uses pre-packaged food and took the plunge to hire a personal trainer.

I spent the first 30 minutes of the first session explaining to him why I needed to lose 40 pounds in four months, and he spent the other 30 telling me to get real. I believe in exercise and have spent years walking and going to the gym. I also know that cardiovascular exercise can prolong life. But I've been thinking - everything wears out eventually and my heart is only good for so many beats and that's it. So, if I speed up my heart, it may not make me live longer, which is like saying I can extend the life of my car by driving faster. Not so, says Tony the trainer.

So here I am, in this little shop of fitness horrors, subjecting myself to medicine balls, weights and kinky elastic bands. It's a challenge getting back in shape after spine surgery three months ago, not to mention that I am in the over-50, post-menopausal stage of my life. However, despite my age and physical travails, I am determined, I am woman, and I will prevail!


Send Ann a word of encouragement, or a brownie. Actually, why not send both? You can e-mail her at ann@insidescv.com.