The other evening I'm in the kitchen making dinner when my wife comes around the corner and says, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Starting my New Year's resolutions."

"Cooking is one of your resolutions?"

"Nope, what gave you that idea?"

After enjoying the totally confused look on her face for a few seconds, I elaborated on my master plan for 2008.

"Start working out more, quit using lame analogies, and finishing all the projects I start are my three New Year's resolutions. I'm just carbo loading for tomorrow for when I start training for that duathlon I signed up for," I said, pointing at my pot full of pasta.

"Duathlon?"

"Yeah, it's a run/bike event."

"Oh, when is the race?"

"January 19."

"And you're starting training tomorrow? You'll never finish."

Ahhh yes, the Dream Squelcher doing what she does best.

However, I was not deterred and showed up at the Apex Recreational Center bright and early the next morning. Since the race begins with a run, I decided to start my training on the treadmill. After I entered in all of my information into the machine; age 35, weight 193, height 5'12", blood type A, mother's maiden name Vader, the belt started moving and I was off and running.

A few minutes later I was sweating like Ron Jeremy in the movie Orgazmo and decided to sneak a peek at the display panel to check on my progress.

0.47 miles, 121 cals, 4 pints of sweat.

CRAP! This was taking way too long. I hit the "up arrow" and increased my speed. Let's just say that my inner thighs hadn't seen that much friction since the night my son was conceived.

Next, I was off to the stationary bike. The nice part about this machine is that once I started pedaling, all the lights automatically turned on and I wasn't forced to enter the amount of my last tax return in order to get the thing working.

"Weeeeee," I cried like a school girl as my legs effortlessly pumped up and down. Apparently this irritated Mr. Sweaty on the bike next to me, because he pointed to the control panel and said, "You...might...want...to...add...some...re...sis...tance."

I followed Mr. Sweaty's advice, tapped the button a few times, and unknowingly went from schoolgirl mode to pedaling-up-hill-through-tar-with-2-flat-tires mode. After sweating more than a Roger Clemens answering questions about steroids, I decided to peel my arse off the uncomfortable bike seat and waddle home.

For what it's worth, my carbo-load dinner included a 2005 bottle of Barbera from wine maker Giacomo Conterno priced at $31. Rich, earthy tones that will remind you of black olives, mushrooms, and wet soil. It is silky smooth like Billy Dee Williams in a cape sipping Colt 45.

Start working out. Check.

Quit using lame analogies. Check.

Finish all the projects I start. Check ... back with me on January 20.