Karla Carrington Photo: Kim Keaton

We broke up. No, silly. Not me and P90X, me and the guy. I am still completely enamored with Tony Horton's P90X. But the guy, not so much.

First, the good. I am entering phase two, week four of P90X and in a word, I'm not ready for it. These first three weeks have punished me physically in ways I didn't know were possible. But I like it. Stuff is hurting that I didn't know could hurt. And I like that, too. When I was obese, stuff hurt even worse. And I hated it. Whatever aches I experience with P90X can be stretched away. Morbid obesity pain required pills.

Look, I'm no pitch man and I get no kickbacks from these folks. I say this of my own free will, P90X has changed my life. I feel stronger, I look fitter and I have more stamina. I am running longer and feeling less winded. In a nutshell, pound the gavel, the decree has been made: Tony Horton's baby daddyship privileges are hereby restored.

As for the next phase of P90X, I'm not going. Yet. There is a greater level of extreme in the current part of the program that I need to gain before I move on. I know coaches and others may scream, and I'm sorry. Truth be told, I was in over my head from the start with P90X. But I tried and tried. Then I got it. My moves got more precise. I went from bands to weights and overall, I am proud of myself for meeting the challenge head on and not giving up. Most importantly, now I can actually hang with them. No way, I'm breaking up with P90X any time soon. Now for the guy.

Here's the fat. Breaking up is hard to do -- but not this time. The moment he fed me my first cheese fry in three years, I knew it was over. It was like a recovering alcoholic taking that first drink. The cheesy goodness gave me a buzz. I'm not strong enough yet. You guys gave me great strategies on how and when to broach the subject, but I couldn't wait. One cheese fry turned into two, which eventually turns into cellulite. I've done far too much to get rid of it to let the fat in 'infatuation' catch me, again. His diet was not the only reason. It's me. I'm just not ready to work at it. When it comes to love, I'm just downright lazy. I need it to be a relatively natural progression. If I have to try too hard, it's a wrap. Single in New York can be an amazing experience, and I'm not quite ready to give it up. Besides, I'm still eyeing my soy-salmon-eating neighbor downstairs who introduced me to P90X. Wow, that just rolls right off the tongue beautifully -- soy salmon. Say it three times fast. The man uses P90X and eats soy salmon -- who couldn't love this guy? I may need to creep downstairs late one night and borrow a cup of agave, naked. Hmmm, there's a thought. What? He probably doesn't eat sugar.

The hungry. I'd be a fool to say that I don't crave love and attention. Most women do. However, right now my craving is bigger than a relationship. I'm starving for my own attention, and being single helps me focus on goals I've set for my life, my health and my fitness. In no way do they supersede my goals for love, marriage and family, they actually intersect. I am of the belief that in order to be the best wife or mother, I have to be my best me first. Slowly but surely, I'm getting there. And all the while, I am happy to be me.