Sunday was officially the three month mark – three months until I say goodbye to my 30’s and hello to, well, life after my 30s’.

Six months ago I promised that my 40th birthday present to myself would be a new body (via a non-surgical route, thankyouverymuch). It sounded like a good idea at the time, and even though I have already reached my desired weight, I have not come even close to my desired tone. I’m a little, um…soft. And I know that can only be cured with movement. And no, standing on one’s feet from 4-10 pm doing dishes and laundry apparently doesn’t count. Wish that it did.

A house with stairs that I traverse fifty times a day doesn’t help either. My home represents the only time I ever disregarded my dad’s advice…he told me not to buy a two-story house. I foolishly commented that two-stories are “so pretty” and the stairs would give me “good exercise.” Phooey!

So this is it, folks…almost all of the tempting Halloween candy is gone, and I have been doing my level best to help rid our office of the leftover jelly beans. Sugar addiction is easy to fall into and hard to step out of. But I find that I feel sluggish lately, and I am pretty sure it’s a result of eating way too much junk. Heaven help me if my next post ends up being titled “Body by Jelly Belly.” No, I have to do better than this.

I have a lot of simple exercise plans that tout results after 4-6 weeks. I’m going for it. Not blindly, mind you. I am fully conscious of the fact that I should have put the pedal to the metal when I had this idea six months ago. But I didn’t, and so I start now. Three months of honest exercise. Twelve weeks. If I can’t see mild-to-moderate improvement by February, I’ll console myself with Heath bars and Moscato, wistfully toasting my thirties a fond farewell.