At any rate, after the month of Tapping (four full routines weekly, plus Hoe Downs after fast-food frenzies), I was easily a pants size smaller. Two sizes, if getting the smaller size on but not being able to completely zip them counts. Which I think it does, since my exercising happened over Christmas when my glass of wine did kinda turn into a case or three.

There are dangers to the program -- mainly fanaticism. T-Tappers tend to behave with the indoctrinated enthusiasm of religious cultists. Even I, despite a lifelong immunity to fads, found that the workout's remarkable results made doing an alarming amount of compulsive T-Tapping irresistible. Temporarily. My personal Armageddon came at a South Beach restaurant that oddly (considering its current hotness among hunks) specializes in serious fried food, when another patron walked into the ladies room and surprised me in the middle of a set of emergency Hoe Downs.

"Oh, are they having country line-dancing here later?" she asked.

"Yes!" I lied, fleeing.

That was about three weeks ago. I haven't T-Tapped since. My stomach is again starting to look like I swallowed a beach ball. Fortunately Tapp herself is coming to town on January 30 to give a free seminar -- which I recommend especially because its convenient time (7:00 to 9:00 p.m.) and location at the Wyndham Miami Airport (3900 NW 21st St.) makes possible a fast restorative run beforehand to Wall's Old Fashioned Ice Cream (8075 SW 67th Ave.), which features six varieties of cones and two dozen homemade ice cream flavors daily. Both the classic rich vanilla and dense yet tangy, refreshing mango are endorsed, by me, equally as enthusiastically as T-Tapping.

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