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PART ONE

The time, six months ago. The scene, the local YMCA.

There I was, a 6 foot, 265 pound blob of 40 year old

insecurity and bruised ego, struggling to keep up with the rest

of the aerobics class. Sweat stung my eyes and pain radiated

from my bad knee -- neither sensation was particularly noticable

compared to the pounding of my heart and the gasping sounds of my

labored breathing. Pride was the only thing which kept me on my

feet and moving.

I could tell that the instructor was watching me,

waiting for me to collapse -- or perhaps trying to figure out

what I was doing in her class. It wasn't an advanced aerobics

class, but it was more than what a beginner like me should have ...

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