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I will not eat another hot dog.

Ever.

It might sound a bit radical to simply cut out an entire type of food like that, but I'm standing firm on this one. Don't bother telling me that hot dogs are as American as apple pie, because it won't matter. And you can keep that happy little tune about wishing to be an Oscar Mayer wiener all to yourself. I will not be swayed.

You see, I'm at the gym and already a good half-hour into my time on the treadmill. I'm reading about the latest teeth-whitening procedures and wondering why my very expensive club membership doesn't add enough funds to the company coffers to buy current issues of interesting magazines such as the Enquirer and People.

If I could read about space aliens who look like Elvis or discover how some celebrity had finally made peace with himself, the time would certainly go faster. I'd even settle for a Newsweek, so I could understand just how important it is that I become an informed voter before the next election.

Instead, I'm stuck thumbing through this free handout from a local dentist's office, having chosen this compelling piece of literature over a ratty copy of Golf Digest or a partially decomposed edition of Runner's World.

I look at the perfectly straight teeth in the brochure and smile into the reflection of the window in front of me, baring my coffee-stained teeth. It has taken 30 years of drinking iced tea and another 10 of guzzling coffee to create this unique shade of off-white teeth, so I'm not sure I'd be able to recognize myself if I had them whitened.

Just as I am about to discover how I can make an appointment for a free exam to see if I, too, can be a candidate of this ground breaking procedure, the brochure floats from its perch in front of me and lands on the floor between the windows and first row of treadmills.

I don't want to stop, so for a few minutes I watch the comings and goings of patrons in the parking lot. I smile as a very frazzled mother tries to corral three soaking toddlers near her minivan as she unloads a pile of dripping pool toys before buckling in her children.

Two teenage boys suck in their chests to gain another inch in height as two pretty girls pass by. I ramp up the speed on the treadmill and decide the parking lot is not nearly as interesting as people watching at the airport.

And then I make my fatal mistake. I look up at the row of TVs hanging from the ceiling and see mounds of hot dogs piled high in front of several contestants. Bite, swallow. Bite, swallow. Bite, swallow. It's like the steps to a dance, only this one is making all of the participants harrowing shades of green.

People are cheering and yelling, encouraging these speed-eaters to shove in just one more hot dog before the time is up. Assistants keep the dogs coming, making sure precious seconds aren't lost in reaching for another one. And when the camera moves to the commentators, I am surprised to see looks of awe and respect.

Hot dogs? Really? Why not chocolate chip cookies? Or Godiva chocolate? I can understand a contest like that.

Any woman battling PMS knows what it's like to eat one piece of chocolate after another until the box is somehow empty. And who can stop at one fresh-out-of-the-oven cookie?

But hot dogs? Who wants to win a contest that means shoving the most compressed unidentified meat parts into your mouth? No self-respecting dieter would waste calories on that.

I look away and notice that the soaking mother in the parking lot is now chasing one toddler around her vehicle while the other two bounce up and down on a very wet beach towel. I change my mind and decide that the parking lot offers a better view.

In fact, I'm thinking about writing the TV station. They should consider a contest for moms chasing toddlers. That would be great entertainment.