Tukee Talk Elizabeth Evans

This tale begins, like most everything in my life, with the size of my rear end.

I need to be perfectly clear here: the problem is not necessarily with my posterior. One could easily argue that it’s the clothes in my closet that have a problem, in that they have mysteriously shrunk. Airplane seats have a problem, too, as they have grown increasingly narrow over the last few years.

Given these observations, and given my desire to be able to still fit into my car in the next few months, you’d think that the logical place to start would be the garage, where the elliptical machine is kept. Or to a gym, where weights and stair masters and Zumba classes can be found. But when you’re a tech hound, the first thing to do is to look at the Internet, on the off chance that someone has invented an app that will go to the gym for me, or at least inspire me with the fervor of a thousand white-hot Pilates instructors, so I would do the thing that I must do, which is move said posterior and thus improve my health in a thousand and one ways.

And I think I did find it. An app, I mean, that hits the one thing I value more than my comfortable couch potato status: money.

When you install it, you strike a deal with the app that you will show up at a gym and exercise, or go for a run or walk on a prearranged schedule. If you don’t do that which you said you would do, the app hits your credit card for a previously-authorized amount of money. Money collected from the couch potatoes is distributed to the Pilates People who showed up for their exercise.

The app uses geo-locating wizardry on your iPhone to know that you have indeed checked in at the gym or have gone for a run. Like one of those annoying taskmasters on “The Biggest Loser,” it keeps track to make sure that you stay there for the prearranged amount of time, instead of pulling the fairly predictable dodge of sitting in the parking lot, checking in on your phone, and then heading out for ice cream.

In short: just what I needed.

I can’t endorse it though, because I couldn’t buy it, because there was just one problem: I don’t have an iPhone, and I don’t have a gym, and I’m definitely not a runner (if I were, I’m thinking I wouldn’t have this problem).

So I punted, since punting is exercise, too. Every day, I must send proof of Exercise Compliance to my son. If I don’t, I have to pay him $1. If I miss a second time, I must pay him $2. If my previous exercise habits proceed as they have in the past, I will wind up owing him $500 in a month.

Except that they won’t, and I can’t, because I don’t have $500 to give my money-grubbing Jiminy Cricket. He’s hoping I will exercise regularly, because he’s a good kid. This is at war with his secret hope that I fall face first into a tub of Cherry Garcia, because he could use the cash.

I’ll keep you posted on my posterior.

Ahwatukee Foothills resident Elizabeth Evans can be reached at elizabethann40@hotmail.com.

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