I knew I was out of shape . . .

. . . but I didn't know I was SO out of shape that the very existence of things called "shapes" was in question.

After all, I've been doing 10-pound curls (am put to 160 of 'em each arm) six mornings a week, and a regimen of 10 situps, 10 pushups, 10 leg lifts, and 10 windmills before bed every other night.

So when I came across a near-mint condition Weslo Momentum 610 for $35 at an otherwise dreadful yard sale yesterday, I thought I had a head start on getting fit.

I think the problem, other than the fact that it looks like the Terminator mated with an antelope, is that it's motion nudges you into going faster than you want.

I can't be on the thing more than five minutes at a time without my leg muscles revolting and feeling like they're being ripped apart William Wallace-style. It's not even long enough to get out of breath. And the rest of the day, my hamstrings are about 6 inches too short.

Too many years of WATCHING The Biggest Loser on TV (usually while eating a bag of chips) instead of trying to get myself fit. I call it Dieting Vicariously Through Television.

So to keep from getting frustrated and giving up entirely, I'm going to have to start small and increase the workout very slowly but steadily. And by "small" and "slowly" I mean "laughably small" and "absurdly slowly." I'm thinking I'll start off burning 10 fat calories a day and increasing that by 1 daily until I get to 10, when I may or may not up the increase to 5 a day.