I hate when I commit to something and then immediately regret having made the commitment. Invariably, when I make plans, I instantly feel trapped, and my brain starts scrambling feverishly to come up with an excuse to get out of what I just agreed to do.

Yes, this just happened. Yes, I just agreed to do something I don't want to do. And yes, already I'm dreading it. I can't even believe I entertained the notion for a nanosecond, let alone allowed my name to be entered into a Palm Pilot, thus making the commitment official.

Tony, one of the newer trainers at the gym (he still wears the purple Equinox T-shirt, which is akin to a college freshman beanie circa 1953), one of the trainers to whom I actually speak (yeah, give it time and I'll hate him too, don't worry) and with whom I once, in a rare moment of garrulous magnanimity, discussed my workout "philosophy" (pause to vomit here, please) ... well, Tony asked me if he could use me as a sort of guinea pig to try out some new exercises he wants to incorporate into his client training. The session would be free, of course, and he needs to try this new stuff with someone who's in really good shape, pays attention to form, and has "body awareness" (yes, that last phrase actually came up during the discussion I mentioned earlier).

"Sure," I said. And then, as if that wasn't enough, I added, "Absolutely!" Exclamation point visible.

"I won't make you do anything embarrassing," he assured me.

Uhhh, just doing this is going to be embarrassing, I wanted to say, but for some reason, Jovial Jodi laughed heartily.

"Just so you know," I said, "I'm not going to do anything that's not an organic movement. I won't do anything unnatural like run sideways on the treadmill or scuttle across the floor on my hands and feet like I've seen other trainers doing with their clients. I also won't do plyometrics." I explained to him that I will not jump due to sesamoid problems suffered in ballet class (yes, it's actually true).

As it turns out, that's precisely what Tony had in mind. So I thought I had an out. I thought he'd say, "Never mind, then," and go about his way, and I would be relieved of the duty to which I'd just committed myself.

But no. He said, "Well, I have other stuff in mind too, so that won't be a problem."

"Fuck you!" thought JoDemonSeed. "I don't want to do this! This is so very wrong! I don't want to do it! No! No! No!"

"Great!" said Jovial Jodi.

So now I'm in his Palm Pilot. I'm "down" for 6:00 a.m. on Wednesday. And now, of course, I'm filled with dread. Now I'm going to obsess about this appointment until it occurs. And of course I'm trying to think of a way I can get out of it.

But even though I've entertained semi-believable excuses such as a sprained ankle, an extended business trip to another city, or a relative's death, I now realize that there really is no way out. Sudden blindness just won't cut it, either. Therefore I must either start working out at the other branch of Equinox to which I belong or leave the country permanently.

Or, when Tony approaches me on Wednesday morning at 6:00, act like I don't know what he's talking about, and then ask him to remind me. When he tells me how we agreed to this on Saturday morning, I will put on my best quizzical face, and then chuckle, a smile of realization playing upon my amused lips.

"Oh, now I see what the problem is!" I'll say. "You talked to my twin!"

What do you think?

Uggh. It won't work. So I'm only left with my usual way out.

At the beginning of our session (I'll act all gung-ho, of course, so he won't suspect my planned ruse), I will have an epileptic seizure (grand mal), complete with mouth-frothing, eyelid-fluttering, and limb-flailing.

Ahhh. I knew I'd come up with something!