On feeling the burn and seeing no melt...

Folks, I'm so discouraged.

I have been exercising regularly for two months. Every workday morning I've made my way to the gym to either run for 30 minutes or lift weights. And don't get me wrong, I've seen some progress. I can now do a 5 K in that time instead of 2.5 miles. And I'm definitely building muscle.

I just haven't lost any weight.

Now, pardon me while I play the role of the predictable chick, but I was REALLY hoping to shed a few pounds. I've accepted the fact that I'll never be a size 6 (by the way, even a 6 seems to be heavy now); but I know I could be a great looking 8. I've been a great looking 8 before. For some reason, though, I can't get it back.

I've decided to cut out the weights now and just focus on cardio. I was trying to change it up and have more of a holistic workout approach. But then I stepped on the scale for the first time in a year and let out a small yelp... like my friend Nicole's little dog. I don't need to build mass... I need to shed mass. I'm no longer interested in adding weight to my body, even if it's healthy.

I think I've also been in denial that I have to change my diet. I've always had a healthy appetite and, well, living with a boyfriend with an equally healthy appetite means we indulge more than we don't. Of course, we also both work long hours and tend to opt for what's easy as opposed to what's healthy. So, the Lean Cuisine at lunch tends to get cancelled out at dinner.

Sigh. Now, I won't stop exercising. I'm not so disappointed that I'm going to hang up the gym shorts. But I'm just sad the weight doesn't fall off the way it used to. Plus giving up the gym means I'd be giving up on overhearing locker room conversation. Like bladder surgeries and dating habits of total strangers. Not to mention my encounters with scary bush lady.

That's right, I said it.

There's a swim class that gets out just as I'm finishing up my run every day. The instructor is probably in her late 30s and the mother of twins. She's also the size of my wrist. In typical petite fashion, she's got a huge, booming voice that makes up for her size. And a huge mass of pubic hair.

No, I don't stare. She's just a woman who has no modesty issues. She's had twins and is the size of my thigh. I might walk around naked everywhere if given the same circumstances. So she carries on her locker room conversations with her students, pacing around at times, but getting ready in front of the big mirror right next to me at other times.

Yes. Naked. With her huge bush.

The thing is, it'd be comical if she'd just stop talking to me while I'm trying to dry my hair. Putting on my makeup gives me a nice excuse not to look at her during our chats, but hair drying and styling, well, I start to appear rude. Can't look up or I see the girls; can't look down or I see the hair.

So we stand side by side.. me fully dressed for work and her completely nude screaming pleasantries under the hum of my blow dryer. I give little more than a one word response, politely laugh at her small talk, and pray to God someone chats her up soon.

Of course, one day I'll just be too old to really care, and I'll no longer care to master the "wrap the towel round yourself before the panties fall completely to the ground" shuffle.

And at that point she'll be instructing her swim class in the buff.