Oh, the memories.

Stan and I, we go way back. We've had some fun together over the past few years, but I finally decided, no matter how difficult it is, he and I need to part ways.

Stan, mind you, isn't a pal, a coworker or a drinking buddy; Stan is the nickname jokingly applied to the giant, protruding mass that had been growing out over my belt for much of the last decade.

Yup, after years of empty promises, false starts and other random procrastinations, I've decided it's time to get my sorry body back in shape.

Those that have known me for only the last few years can't believe their eyes when they see pictures of me from the late 1990s and even the early years of this decade; I was the epitome of skinny. A 34 waist with a 34 inseam. A walking toothpick.

As funny as it is to people, the body started growing right around the time I decided I was too old to be in a German folk dance group. Laugh all you want, but the polka provided three hours of heavy-duty cardio for many, many years. When I quit doing that -- and maintained a steady diet of beer and stadium press box meals -- the effect on my gut was obvious.

Enough is enough, though.

After doing my research, I coughed up the bucks and joined the Downtown YMCA (which, by the way, I didn't even know was there until recently). I had some time to kill after signing up so I hopped on a bike -- pedaling damn near 15 miles -- and even decided to walk/jog a mile ... baby steps.

Monday, I'm meeting with a personal trainer. One of my reasons for joining the Y over the WAC or Bally's was the "Commit to be Fit" program, which lets you meet with a personal trainer for up to 12 weeks, helping you develop -- and follow -- a workout and diet program.

That's not all, though. I'm cutting out the biggest problem of them all ... smoking.

It's a stupid, filthy habit that's become increasingly annoying over the years and I finally had enough. I'm sick of waking up and coughing up half a lung. Not to mention, I have better things to do with that money.

My goal isn't to be some sort of Greek god (although, if it helps me on the, ahem, "social" scene, I'm all for it), but I would like to be able to fit back into my pants again. Finding pants with a 38 waist and 34 inseam is hard enough, so you can imagine how hard it is to find larger sizes. Basically, I just want to feel healthy again.

So why am I bothering you, the fine reader, with such a trivial tale? I'm not posting this blog in a public forum in the hopes of drawing a pat on the back or any kind of accolades for something I should have done years ago. More so, maybe putting this out for public consumption will help inspire me to stick to the plan ... a little pressure can be a good thing sometimes.

In the end, everybody needs a little help. So if you have suggestions, tips -- or even want to take a pot shot at me -- use the Talkback feature below. I'm all ears.

In the meantime, I need to go find some ice.