Today, I joined a gym. It is across the street from my office, and six blocks from my home. Our wedding is in 50-something days, which gives me that many days to reverse my habits of this summer.

This summer I have convinced myself that Chipotle is the fast-food equivalent of Whole Foods; that my one mile round trip commute to work is exercise; that vodka sodas with lemon are exempt from calories; and that “feeling stressed all the time” burns the calories I’m not drinking in the vodka sodas I carry around in a coffee mug in Mt Vernon. (Seriously. I’ve argued out loud to another human that “nervous energy” is a form of weight loss.)

So today begins a new chapter. One in which I will go the gym before after work and try to do more than walk slightly uphill on the treadmill while drooling through Friends reruns. Maybe I’ll add three pound weights to my legs.

Wish me luck. And if you’re wondering about the image above- the one where my brother is pretending to kill me with an oar- it’s the only picture I could find where I’m not holding a drink or sitting down.

I need a Richard Simmons moment.