JESS DU JOUR: GETTING RID OF HOLIDAY FAT THE OLD-FASHIONED WAY

Christmas and New Year's have recently passed, and I am feeling a bit fat. In fact, in the past three weeks, I am quite sure that I have consumed enough saturated fat and cholesterol (in the form of tree-shaped cookies) to successfully clog my arteries for life.

On New Year's Day, I resolved that something had to be done. Come hell or high water or Nacho Cheese Doritos, I was going to make a valiant attempt to get myself back into shape.

After weighing my options, (no pun intended), I did what any right-thinking individual would have done in my situation -- I bought exercise videos.

I obtained copies of "Richard Simmons' Sweatin' to the Oldies," "Jazzercize Your Way to a Better Figure," and "Mousersizing with Mickey Mouse and Friends."

Now, don't get me wrong, jumping around with Mickey and his perky friend in a red leotard is NOT a bad workout -- if you are approximately 3 YEARS OLD and you are approximately not a bit overweight. But this was not the case for me. I DO need to lose a few pounds, and I am 17. (I am also an athlete. I'm used to running wind sprints until my femurs fall out.) Needless to say, I was looking for something a bit more challenging.

I popped in the Jazzercize tape and the music started. Immediately, five smiling ladies and one smiling guy in matching pastel-pink and baby-blue Spandex, (leg warmers, wristbands, leotards, the whole nine yards) bopped out onto a stage. The poor pastel-clad guy in the back, (this is almost too easy), bopped along with the girls.

As if he was HAPPY to be bopping around on a stage in little blue aerobics shoes. By the end of the tape, I almost admired him -- this attire and activity would give most grown men a complex.

The ladies, who all had attractive names like Debbie and Lisa, would take turns leading the moves and speaking to the camera while they bopped. Though all four women spoke, the guy remained nameless and was never allowed to speak. (My theory: He really DID have a complex about his shoes and planned to off himself after the show.)

Regardless, the women kept speaking and bopping, their make-up running all the while, and they commenced to jazzercize their viewers into shape.

Their viewer (me) had long since ceased to exercise and had found a nice comfy spot on the couch and invited family members to come and make fun of the dancers.

The smiley group would bop from one end of the stage to the other, leading their audience through all kinds of complicated dance-aerobic steps that, frankly, no fat viewer could ever do. The muted, blue-shoes guy in the back was even falling behind. In fact, the only people who could keep up with the Jazzercize ladies were ... the Jazzercize ladies themselves, who were already flawlessly toned and sculpted.

I was getting frustrated beyond belief and I was nowhere near keeping up with the perky clone named Debbie. I took Debbie and her pastel friends out of the VCR. I decided to see what Richard Simmons could do for me.

If I was in a bad mood, I would NOT hang out with Richard Simmons. (It would be too tempting for me to whack all his hair off and pull his shorts down.) The fact, however, that he is an annoying person does not make him a bad aerobics instructor. His video setup was actually more on my level. A bunch of fat people, who actually NEEDED to do exercise (unlike Debbie and the Frim-Frams) were doing fairly simple calisthenics -- and not one of them had on matching Spandex. (Ooooh, nasty mental picture if they did though.)

Even though they had a goofball leading them in their toils, I didn't hold that against them. They really were honestly trying to lose some weight, and they had the courage to let someone film them while they were doing it.

They were also listening to oldies. Anyone, fat or thin, who listens to oldies is okay in my book.

Of all my tapes, this is the one I liked best. I could actually DO these exercises. So after I finished, I went and got a bowl of butter pecan ice cream to cool down with. No, actually, I only ate half a bowl. (I'm on a diet, remember?)

This year, I made a list of New Year's resolutions. No, I will not bore you with a list of all my faults and failings. I will, however, let you know that MOST of my resolutions had to do with the increasing circumference of my thighs (e.g., I WILL do more leg-lifts in '96, I WILL purchase a Thigh Master.)

But after my recent encounter with exercise tapes and ladies named Debbie in pink and blue Spandex, I threw away my resolution list and formed some new theories:

1. Spandex is an unflattering, uncomfortable aerobicizing material that sneaks up your rear and should only be worn if one's name happens to be something sickeningly attractive like, for example, Debbie.

2. Jazzercize videos are almost as useless as Spandex. It is SO much more fun to plop down on the couch and ridicule the aerobicizing people on the screen than to actually get up and -- gasp -- exercise.

3. What Americans (myself included) need, if they'd ever like to see their toes again, is motivation. Not the kind that motivates you to buy a membership to a health club and use its hot tub facilities to pick up dates, but the kind that motivates you to throw on gray sweats and go jogging at sunrise.

This is the time of year when it's easiest to lounge on the couch and take in approximately eight professional football games per day and consume chips and dip by the metric ton. RESTRAIN YOURSELF.

"Whoa horsey" on the chips and dip, and endeavor to find yourself a good exercise tape. I happen to have a few suggestions.

Choose your exercise flicks wisely and avoid, at all costs, ANYONE wearing Spandex.