Maybe I've Moved To The Dark Side,

Amen,' I Exclaim, Accidentally Spitting Out A Raisinet. I Pick Up The Chocolate With A Kleenex And Stuff It In My Purse. Ten Bucks Says A Month From Now I'll Have Forgotten About It And Will Finally Have Said Heart Attack When I Assume A Rat Shat In There.

I Can't Believe Anyone Would Voluntarily Run 26 Miles. Sometimes I Sit On The Couch Cross-legged Because I Don't Feel Like Walking To The Bathroom.

As I Examine My Life Through This Book, I Can't Help But Wonder If My Mother Was Right. Maybe I Really Was What I Ate. And Maybe If She'd Let Me Eat A Little More Sugar, I'd Have Come Out Sweeter.

Really? If I Could Hate My Trainer? That Would Be Ideal. I'd Prefer To Despise This Person With The Fire Of Ten Thousand Suns. So When I Walk - Nay, Crawl - Out Of Here At The End Of My Workouts, I Want To Lull Myself To Sleep By Picturing My Very Talented And Inspirational Trainer Getting Hit By A Bus. A Bus That I Am Driving.

Were I Forced To Describe This Woman In One Word, That Word Would Be...herpes.