This post is not gonna be about me e-spanking you for being overweight (if you are, and YOU KNOW who you are). No; I won’t even discuss the practical stuff you could, should, and need to do to get that cellulite in check. Nope. This post is about an essential organ in your body that weighs just about as much as what The Babster did when she was born–three pounds.

Think (pun) about it. Your brain is probably the key organ responsible for any and all weight problems you have, aside from some weird (and rare) thyroid or glandular condition. And since you can’t remove your brain without becoming a member of Congress, you have to, according to Lavinia Rodriguez, PhD, sort of re-wire it. “You’re not weak. It’s just that the way we humans use our brains is a little out of whack, says Dr. Rodriguez, a psychologist who specializes weight and body image issues, and author of Mind Over Fat Matters. “The brain wants to do what it imagines is enjoyable and resists what it thinks will be too much effort or hard work.”

Perhaps the Twinkie defense is a viable one in this case.

First things first. Your BRAIN does not want you to lose that blubber. Because it’s hard, and brains are generally lazy and want to do what’s comfortable, and changing your eating and exercise routine is makes your brain…rebellious.

And here’s a radical idea the good doctor recommends: don’t exercise. Well, at least don’t call it that. So no more use of the e-word in this post. The better word, according to Dr. Rodriguez, is “movement.” Not as in bowel, which makes me think about when I was a kid and my mother gave me enemas if I didn’t poop for three days. *shivers*

I recall an article about Jill Scott and what made her weight loss a success. Her trainer tricked her. Instead of running on a treadmill like a hamster on crack, she played basketball and other stuff. The trainer did everything in his power to make exercise (oops!) feel like play.

Remember playing? That’s why you were so thin when you were 11, because you rode your bike two miles in 95-degree weather to the bookstore with $5 burning a hole in your pocket. At least that was me. My favorite spot was called Readmore (before the evil Barnes & Noble swallowed all the mom and pop’s). They also sold those little Smurf figurines, so I’d be torn between buying another two-inch Smurfette or the latest Sweet Valley High.

Frankly, I don’t care what Dr. R wants to rename torture that makes your body look good, because either way, I’m committed to doing it anyway. But it’s nice to know that I have permission to NOT jog, because I hate it. I also don’t have to go to spin classes. I just need to move. And have “movements” so mother will stay away from the Fleet enemas.