You're in it now, son. Up to your neck

That's a favourite line of mine. From The Guns of Navarone. Gregory Peck tearing David Niven a new one. Brilliant.

Blogs have many functions. I don't know what they are. This one, however, is now devoted to helping me shame myself into shape. See, if I announce my intention to the world, or at least the five or six people who read this space once over the next 20 weeks, I pretty much have to finish what I started, yes?

Why? It started at the Toronto International Bicycle Show, a March ritual for me. (I do get *some* exercise.) In 2009, it was a bike. A KHS Urban Xpress. Excellent deal. This year, best I could do was a pair of Adidas bike shoes for $30. (Odd size; 42-2/3. Happened to fit me perfectly.) And a jersey for my daughter, and a two-for-one deal on PowerBar protein supplement, which is actually drinkable mixed with water. And a copy of Get Out There, a bimonthly outdoor sports magazine, out of which popped a pamphlet from the MultiSport Canada Triathlon Series.

Not all triathlons are he-man, run-till-you-drop affairs for the hyperfit or suicidal. Yes, a full ironman triathlon follows a 3.8-km swim and a 180-km bike ride with -- get this -- a full marathon-distance (42-km) run. Truly for the batshit crazy only. But the races in the MSC Series -- there are 10 in Ontario this summer -- all have a Give-it-a-tri category: 400-m swim, 10-km ride, 2.5-km run. Manageable. Unless you just quit smoking 12 hours ago, you consider beer a food group, and you watch three hours of TV a night. Oh, and you're 46. And a half.

So ... I joined the Y across the street from work. I've ordered prescription swimming goggles (a story unto itself). I downloaded a training program for my iPod, (yes, there's an app for that).

Well, you're in it now, son. Up to your neck.