By Amy

How many times have you started a workout and thought, “Oh, man. I’m not sure I can get through this”? You start a 6 mile run, and half a mile in it already feels like you should be at mile 5, and you’re just ready to be done. You start a swim workout and your heart just isn’t in it, and it feels like it will never end. You’ve done 2 sets and you’re supposed to do 25 and you can’t figure out how you’re ever going to do 23 more.

This is particularly near and dear to my heart currently. I’m right at the end of my Ironman training build. Theoretically, if my coach doesn’t hate me, I’ll start tapering soon, since the race is in 18 days. So my workouts right now are long and hard and with a high potential for being soul-draining.

I’ve found that I very often will start a long workout and have a great attitude for a good, oh, 10 minutes, and then start to droop a bit. Begin to wonder where I’m going to find the fortitude to keep going, when I’m only 1/16th of the way in, and already I’m doubting. Already I’m wondering whether I can come up with compelling justification to cut my workout short. Always wondering, every workout, “How will I get through this?”

And one thing this training has made me realize is.. I always do. I always get through it. Whether it’s a 30 minute workout or a 6 hour workout.. I’ve always managed to live through it and come out the other end. Maybe it was good, maybe it was bad, maybe I did even quit early. But here I am on the other side now, happy and healthy and no worse for the wear. Maybe even with some good angst-ridden stories as a result.

Realizing that, and acknowledging that, has really done wonders for my attitude about dreaded workouts. When I’m done with a really hard (mentally, physically or both) workout, I now take a moment to acknowledge the fact that, hey, it may not have ever felt like it would end, but it DID. And I’m awesome for getting through it. And y’know what? The next workout may feel hard, but it will end, too. And knowing that makes it that much easier to start the next hard workout.

Because it will always end. And you’re awesome for getting through it.

Here’s my 2009 recap, swiped from Linda and Kaitlyn. Happy, safe holiday to everyone!

1. What did you do in 2009 that you’d never done before?
Had a baby, became a step-mama, and I loved my job. I learned to surf. And in Costa Rica, I leapt off a really tall platform hooked to a bungee cord and swung through the rainforest like Tarzan.
2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?


I don’t think I had any for last year.
3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Loads of people gave birth: Jen, Greg(‘s wife), Amy, the other Amy, Nancy, Liza, Allyson, Quinn…
4. Did anyone close to you die?

No.
5. What countries did you visit?


Costa Rica and Australia.
6. What would you like to have in 2010 that you lacked in 2009?
My creative mojo, and my old body. As soon as I got pregnant, I stopped feeling inclined to write creatively, even though I went to my writing group religiously. And… I’d like to feel fit and in shape again.
7. What dates from 2009 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
Oh, December 10 comes to mind. Welcome to the world, baby Lydia! 
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?


Well, I grew and delivered another human being, which has more to do with the miracle of biology than my own personal efforts. And one of my poems was selected for a pretty competitive publication, and I’m proud of that.
9. What was your biggest failure?
I’m struggling with breastfeeding, though I have my lactation consultant’s number on speed dial. It’s slowly improving, but so far I feel like I’m failing at that.
10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
I had some nasty bug last spring that involved projectile awfulness in mass quantities.
11. What was the best thing you bought?
An upgrade on our honeymoon cabin. Oh, and one of these. Freedom! Do you know what a pain in the ass it is to have to hold those godforsaken breast-pump cups up with both hands for 20 minutes several times a day? You can’t even scratch your nose, much less change the channel or type while you pump. Not that I’m pumping and wearing one right now (in leopard print, no less) while I’m typing. But, er, yeah, NEXT QUESTION.
12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
My husband’s. He found out early this year that he has a nine-year-old daughter, and he handled that situation with grace, maturity and love. He’s become a fantastic father to both Mil and our new baby Lydia. And my God, I was a hormonal train-wreck many times this year, and he took outstanding care of me. 
13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?


The pope.
14. Where did most of your money go?
Student loans, savings and maternity pants with those elastic waist-bands that stretch all the way up to your boobs.
15. What did you get really excited about?
I decided on a whim to go to Australia—and WOW that was a fabulous decision. I skipped the whole end of a Minneapolis winter. Of course, I was psyched about the baby…
16. What song will always remind you of 2009?
Lullaby by Dan Wilson, and Porch Light by Brianna Lane.
17. Compared to this time last year, are you:

– happier or sadder? Happier
– thinner or fatter? Fatter
– richer or poorer? Richer
18. What do you wish you’d done more of?


Write creatively.
19. What do you wish you’d done less of?


Cry. Totally all hormones, not circumstances.
20. How did you spend Christmas?


With my parents and older sister, husband and new baby at our place. It was lovely.
21. Did you fall in love in 2009?
Yes. Her name is Lydia Elise.
22. What was your favorite TV program?


CSI Miami.
23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?


Hm. Pretty sure I hated all the same people the year before.  
24. What was the best book you read?
Pain Free Childbirth.
25. What was your greatest musical discovery?

Pandora.
26. What did you want and get?
To get pregnant, which happened really quickly for us. To build my business and publish some articles.
27. What did you want and not get?
Creative energy. 
28. What was your favorite film of this year?
Precious. Devastating and brilliant.
29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
33. Pedicure and dinner with friends.
30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
If Scott had come to Australia with me, that would have been fabulous.
31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2009?
Rotund. It included far too much elastic, much larger sizes and bigger bras.
32. What kept you sane?


Knowing that at the end of the pregnancy I’d get to bring home a new baby. And sleep—napping is good.
33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Obama.
34. What political issue stirred you the most?


Healthcare. Everyone (EVERYONE) should have healthcare.
35. Who did you miss?


All my long distance friends in Portland and Australia.
36. Who was the best new person you met?


There are more than one—all the people in my writing group. Nearly everyone in there is at least 1 generation older than me, and I adore them.
37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2009.


I learned how absolutely big the heart can grow.

 

 

Since I’ve been talking about being pregnant since April, I thought I’d post an off-topic update. Lydia Elise was born on December 10 at 11:08 a.m. Seven pounds, 4 ounces. She was a week early, but what a nice surprise, and her daddy (a nurse, who luckily isn’t skeeved out by any bodily function whatsoever) delivered her with our midwife standing by.

You may remember a post about me feeling afraid of childbirth, but that all slowly turned into excitement as I neared delivery. I wasn’t afraid at all—just very excited and curious about the experience. 

Now, we’re in the new-parent no-sleep talking-way-too-much-about-baby-poo stage. Of course, it’s challenging and totally wonderful at the same time. Lydia is a beautiful baby, and we’re thrilled she’s here.

 

Meanwhile, I’m still in awe of what my body has done over the past year. Creating and giving birth to a child is an amazingly powerful demonstration of what a woman’s body can do. And healing over the past two weeks just reminds me that when we take good care of ourselves, our body can better take care of itself.

 

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eight=”176″ />
By Kristin Darguzas

My bellybutton stuck out for weeks after my son was born.

At first, I thought it was another one of “those things they don’t tell you” about pregnancy: a demented remnant of my stomach’s mind-blowing expansion phase.

But several months post-partum, and my belly button was growing outward still and I suspected it might be from all the Doritos and maybe some reverse flatulence or something? So I did what any frazzled, overwhelmed new mama might do: I ignored it.

Almost a year later, when my bellybutton was an angry, pint sized gnome sticking angrily out from my midsection, I saw a Doctor and learned I had a hernia.

“Are you going to have another child?” she asked.

I regarded her suspiciously.

“It’s just, if you are, there’s no point in having it repaired,”she explained,”Essentially your insides will just…come out again.”

Gross. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever have babies again, but I was a single Mom by that time and the prospect didn’t seem likely. I had my belly button hernia repaired: a day operation that essentially stuffed my guts back inside my stomach and sealed them in mesh. I know.

***

The surgery held up pretty well for almost 3 years, and I was grateful this summer, particularly because…oh my god, I could wear two piece swimsuits without sucking in my stomach, for the first time. Near the end of the summer, when I was watching carb intake and hitting the gym as well as running, I had visible muscles in my midsection. It had taken a lot of hard work. And I was proud.

Until the gnome reappeared: this time purple and angrier than before. It was out of control this time, the size of a tumbler, and I couldn’t even run with a shirt on because fabric on it’s rotund head felt like glass on a raw eyeball.

I went to see the Doctor.

“It is great that you have been exercising so diligently,”she said,”But all your ab work has basically caused this. You can’t be working your stomach like this anymore.”

She continued: I could run, swim, whatever. But no sit ups. No crunches. No, not even with the medicine ball or if I did them slowly. None, she said.

I know this doesn’t sound overly tragic, but I’m at the point in my fitness where I’m kind of addicted. The changes in my body have amazed me, I have more energy than ever, and I crave a workout more than a cigarette or a glass of wine when I’m stressed out.

I am scared if I stop doing what I’m doing, I’ll lose momentum and start eating tiramisu before bed again. I know how easy it is to get off course, I’ve done it before.

I’d love to hear what you guys do to stay on course when a glitch or a change or an unexpected event throws you for a loop. In the meantime, I’m going to give up on my whole 4 pack goal and start thinking about sculpted shoulders. More people see those, anyway.

Format

By Kristin Darguzas
My bellybutton stuck out for weeks after my son was born.
At first, I thought it was another one of “those things they don’t tell you” about pregnancy: a demented remnant of my stomach’s mind-blowing expansion phase.
But several months post-partum, and my belly button was growing outward still and I suspected it might be from all the Doritos and maybe some reverse flatulence or something? So I did what any frazzled, overwhelmed new mama might do: I ignored it.
Almost a year later, when my bellybutton was an angry, pint sized gnome sticking angrily out from my midsection, I saw a Doctor and learned I had a hernia.
“Are you going to have another child?” she asked.
I regarded her suspiciously.
“It’s just, if you are, there’s no point in having it repaired,”she explained,”Essentially your insides will just…come out again.”
Gross. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever have babies again, but I was a single Mom by that time and the prospect didn’t seem likely. I had my belly button hernia repaired: a day operation that essentially stuffed my guts back inside my stomach and sealed them in mesh. I know.
***
The surgery held up pretty well for almost 3 years, and I was grateful this summer, particularly because…oh my god, I could wear two piece swimsuits without sucking in my stomach, for the first time. Near the end of the summer, when I was watching carb intake and hitting the gym as well as running, I had visible muscles in my midsection. It had taken a lot of hard work. And I was proud.
Until the gnome reappeared: this time purple and angrier than before. It was out of control this time, the size of a tumbler, and I couldn’t even run with a shirt on because fabric on it’s rotund head felt like glass on a raw eyeball.
I went to see the Doctor.
“It is great that you have been exercising so diligently,”she said,”But all your ab work has basically caused this. You can’t be working your stomach like this anymore.”
She continued: I could run, swim, whatever. But no sit ups. No crunches. No, not even with the medicine ball or if I did them slowly. None, she said.
I know this doesn’t sound overly tragic, but I’m at the point in my fitness where I’m kind of addicted. The changes in my body have amazed me, I have more energy than ever, and I crave a workout more than a cigarette or a glass of wine when I’m stressed out.
I am scared if I stop doing what I’m doing, I’ll lose momentum and start eating tiramisu before bed again. I know how easy it is to get off course, I’ve done it before.
I’d love to hear what you guys do to stay on course when a glitch or a change or an unexpected event throws you for a loop. In the meantime, I’m going to give up on my whole 4 pack goal and start thinking about sculpted shoulders. More people see those, anyway.
Path:

Oh, hi!  I am sheepishly coming out from under my rock here, semi-ashamed that I’ve been so atrociously remiss in writing in this space.

On the upside: I am rocketing out of my crater in a bikini, a white one, and I am glad to assure you that my excuse for not writing is that my free time has been consumed by love, work, and a newfound passion for working out.

I’ll start at the beginning.

***

“You can’t go out with a dude who has a stomach like that,” my friend Tracey whispered, as we both gaped at Facebook and a profile picture of my would-be date,”He very obviously spends all his free time in a gym and I’ve dated gym monkeys.  When they’re that obsessed with their own fitness, they have no time for you, for anything but pumping iron.”

I stared at the screen, inhaled sharply and decided to go out with him anyway.

***

I’ve been with the man with the bulging biceps and sculpted 6 pack for three months now, and I know some of what my friend warned me is true: Corey does spend much of his free time in the gym. And the running trails and the steep inclines of mountains.  But I don’t begrudge him this: I admire it, and covet his willpower.

He has taught me that humans in excellent physical condition work hard for it: they are conscious of what they consume, they focus intensely on cardio and weight and vitamins and protein carb balance.  And he’s also taught me that this focus on fitness, on being in the best shape you can possibly be, is a gift that we can take or leave.  I spent several weeks drooling over his perfectly oiled machine of a body and then I decided: I can do this too.  I will have several decades when I am 70 and 80, Universe Willing, when my body can be free to droop and fade and recede into its own folds.  For now I am young and strong and capable: I have the choice to be strong, firm, and proud of my body.

***

I started running in earnest several months ago, now I can’t go a day without going for a run.  I do between 5 and 10K every day except for Sunday.  Recently I’ve added the gym into the mix, and I’m aiming to do weights 3 times a week along with my runs.  I want a 4 pack by the end of fall, I’d like to coax my butt out of its pancake position by Christmas.

My boyfriend has helped me to be aware of what I eat: no more cheese and crackers for lunch: my home is now stocked with fresh fruit and vegetables, and I’ve dramatically cut down on bread. I look forward to sweating and working and feeling good about what we eat.  I am amazed at the freedom of not feeling the intense need to hide my fatskinny body between the sheets in the dark, before I’m seen.

Between the new, healthy diet and my running, I’ve lost 6 pounds and 2 dress sizes, and I can say, for the first time in my life, I can wear a bikini with unabashed abandon.

The omg-I-hate-doing-this curve?  It goes away, this I promise.  The feeling of taking control of your body, of doing this yourself, is worth every tear of sweat, every missed chocolate bar, every undignified Jillian-Michaels induced grunt.

I’m here to tell you: you can do this.  Go, girl.

It’s been two months since I last wrote—an unintentional absence. I left you with my newfound determination to re-commit to my exercise routine, and all started out well. Was on a residency in sunny Australia, where my personal trainer friend offered a few free sessions. I had resolve! New sports bras! I was going to kick ass until I had six-pack abs!

I started by jogging around a beautiful lake in sunny Perth, and after two weeks of consistent workouts, I was… in worse shape than when I started. Unusually ravished, I was eating far more than I typically do. I started craving sugar in ways I’ve never craved it before—not just, say, eating frosting by the spoonful, but I was having weird cravings. Like, I’d put on suntan lotion and think “Ohhh, it looks like frosting” and I’d kinda want to eat it. HELLO.

There I was—plodding along my jogging path wondering why the hell I’m huffing more than I had when I first started. Shouldn’t this be getting easier? I caught glimpse of myself in a store window, and dear JEZUZ is that a MUFFIN TOP? What the hell? And why are my freaking boobs killing me? I’m wearing TWO sports bras for God’s sake WHAT IS GOING ON.

I imagine that some of the mommas reading this right now are one step ahead of me at this point. Pregnancy is what’s up and OMG, that was fast. So it wasn’t a total shock, but I was braced for the whole thing to take a while. It took two days, which was a happy, happy surprise.

With 10 days abroad left to go, I told my husband over Skype. My personal trainer friend was the first one to know in person, and he quickly went about the business of upgrading my vitamins and teaching me all about pregnancy workouts.

I wasn’t feeling well–the hormones, the weirdness, digestive insanity. I made it to a few yoga classes, and did my best to walk around a lake a day (about 3 miles) but decided that for now, growing a baby was enough work for me.

I feel MUCH better now. At nearly 18 weeks, I can feel the little bean swimming around in there, thumping my belly like a popcorn popper. And it’s time to get fit. I’m pregnant. I’ve been eating ice cream daily for three months. And I’m totally out of shape. But I want to start getting healthy again.

I’ve never been pregnant before, and other than reading up on what’s safe and what isn’t, I’m not sure where to begin, so today I walked around the lake by my house, and that’s a start. I just read Amanda’s post on water aerobics, so there’s an idea, but if any of you, moms or not, have suggestions, please leave a comment.

By Kristin Darguzas

There is nothing more annoying than supermodels explaining that they eat Doritos and Cheez Whiz and lounge on striped beach chairs in order to keep their Victoria’s Secret bodies.  There is perhaps nothing more infuriating than a woman who says, “Oh, it’s genetic” in answer to how she got her perfect body.

One of my best friends used to engage me in lengthy diatribes about the thickness of her waist and the imperfections of her breasts.  She was 5’9″ with perky boobs and weighed about 125 pounds.  I kind of wanted to clobber her.

I didn’t expect the outpouring of anger on my Fatskinny pictures post.  I get it, I do, but I will tell you why I’ll defend it to my death.

I was born with an athletic body.  I know some of us are born with “fat” genes, some with “skinny”.  I know this firsthand: my best friend and I took a trip to Greece ten years ago and ate and drank the same thing everyday.  She gained 12 pounds, I lost 4.

The fact that I was born with skinny legs and a flat torso makes me doubly ashamed of the fact that I abuse my body.  I could be cut, I could be ripped with relatively minimal effort.  I am not one of those women that must labor at the gym everyday for 7 months to see results: I achieve them very quickly.  This is not a skill, but a born tendency.

I think that’s why I feel so passionately about this column, why I did not delete the original thread, even after it became clear that I’d offended people.

Thin women with flab have a right to want to improve too.  Just because we’re not conventionally fat does not mean we are strong.  Just because we’ve been given a head-start advantage doesn’t mean we don’t have to pant and train and try really damned hard. If anything: it’s more shameful.  We’ve been given a head start, and we’re not taking advantage of it.

I’ve recieved a lot of emails from “fatskinny” women who have been afraid to talk about their body issues because of fear of resentment by their friends who are “legitimately” fat.

This column is for those women: women who might be afraid to express their dissatisfaction for fear of judgment.  Women who are OK behind clothes, who want to be OK in a bathing suit.  Let’s give ‘er.

Back in the summer, when Linda started telling me about her idea for this website, I came up with a brilliant plan.

I would write a blog here, I’d appoint it Fatskinny, and I’d post before pictures of myself in a bathing suit to motivate the Holy Living Hell out of myself.

And then I tried to do it. And I couldn’t.

I thought of future dates googling me and rubbing their eyes in horror at my no-bum and chicken arms. I thought of my son’s daycare workers stumbling on me and me green bathing suit and losing all their innocence. Then I thought of Nolan’s future locker buddies and dear, god, I can’t even imagine his pre-pubescent horror but then – dude, does anyone really care about the fatskinny body of a thirty-something houselady? Other than you, I mean?

So. Ohmygod, one two three flush. I took this picture at the end of July in hope of posting it in public in order to stir some shame in me, and therefore motivation.  It never saw the light of day on my own blog.

Full admission one: this is not the least flattering picture. I have dimples on my butt.

Full admission two: I have a spray tan in this picture, making me look slightly erroneously thinner than I really am.

Full admission three: This view of my fatskinny arms doesn’t show them at their worst.

It’s not a good before picture, in short, because it doesn’t really show my true state.

So yesterday, I thought I’d take some new before pictures. Not in a bathing suit, god, it’s January and it’s bad enough I’m taking semi-nude and highly unflattering pictures of myself in the kitchen (the neighbors already think it’s our dog that craps in their yard, it’s not it’s that damned husky across the street, and could they see me against the wall with my camera there oh dear PETE what I do for the Internet.)

So: new befores, but I still can’t bring myself to show you my white butt. That’s only for the mirror, whilst running backwards.

I know it’s not showing my butt, but I have not mastered the self timer on my camera and I’m definitely not asking the garbage man to take these shots.

(In this picture I appear orange brown but it’s the way my camera was turned? Also, that’s a portrait of my dog in the background, in case you were wondering about the coyote-looking creature on the wall.)

Anyway. Here’s the shock in all of this: my before pictures now are quite, substancially better than my before pictures this summer. My arms are more toned, my belly is harder though I have work to do there. And, you can’t see it, but I think my butt is higher.

I have not been doing much differently. I am running slightly longer, but I still eat potato soup at 11 PM and guiltily snarf Lindt balls during portions of the day. I still have wine on the weekends. The only major change is Jillian Michaels. I’ve been doing that damned video three times a week for almost a month and you know – I have no fatskinny on my arms right now. For the first time in years.

I think maybe if I cut back on the at night eating and do the video 5 days a week, I might just be ready to post a real bathing suit picture – with a minimum of shame.

A few weeks ago I stepped out on to my front stoop and turned around to lock the front door, stuffed the key inside a built-in pocket in my running pants, and absent-mindedly attached the velcro on my iPod armband, ready to take on the trails. I started walking crisply as I scrolled through to my summer run mix and heard the beginning strains to Eminem’s Rabbit Run in one ear. OMG one ear was not working. Holy Pete, how the hell could I go for a run with music coming out of only one earbud? I couldn’t, that’s how.

Music is so incredibly important to the tempo of my runs that I kind of hate to go on them without it. I turned around and went in the house and dealt with the entirely-too-perky Denise Austin instead.

I’ve since bought a new pair of earbuds (and incidentally, it took me forever to find ones that didn’t come loose and fall out of my ears as I ran, these ones are pretty perfect for fit although they don’t let in a ton of ambient sound.)

Today I went out at lunch with those perfect fitting earbuds and a new run mix timed for exactly thirty minutes and created with the tend to motivate the holy hell out of me the entire time. I had my dog in my right hand, he was trotting just a little bit in front of me. The fog snaked through trees and settled in the moss and tiny ice slivers floated in the silent cove in the marina near my house. I was soaring on good running shoes attuned so sharply to living and pushing in the moment that seriously, I kind of felt like crying for a minute. Does that sound wack? It happens to me once every so often.

Anyway, I have to credit the euphoric run for a seriously wicked mix on the iPod. I know music is completely subjective and usually I’m a fan of obscure, morose indie music but when it comes to running stuff — anything goes, as long as it gets me going.  Alice Cooper was on my mix for a long time.  Black Eyed Peas make kicking workout music, even if I would never, ever listen to them on the radio.

And if an artist or collection of artists get me singing by myself while sprinting up a mountain with my belligerent dog, as it did today – then perfect.

Here is my perfect mix of the moment:

1. Eminem – Rabbit Run

2. Numb – Jay Z and Linkin Park

3. Love and Memories -O.A.R

4. My Happiness – Powderfinger

5. Cumbersome – Seven Mary Three (I am totally serious)

6.  Pump It – Black Eyed Peas

7. Sexy Back – JT.

8. Red Heart – Hey, Rosetta (obscure Canadian band, but I think you’ll fall in love)

OK, what is your best ever ultimate half-hour mix?  The Interwebs help create the best mixes.

When my relationship with the Father of our young son dissolved exactly two years ago, I lost 28 pounds.

I didn’t lose it immediately, of course, but over the period of six months – from January, when he left, I went from a healthy (if a little hippy) 155 to 126 pounds. I am six feet tall. 126 pounds on my formerly athletic frame left me looking gaunt, hollow, and skeletor-cheeked.

I was sick with anxiety about what the future would hold, I was white with stress and every time I thought about food, I’d vomit. Sometimes I wouldn’t eat for a day or two, until a flash of realization would consume me as I struggled to stand upright to brush my teeth: crap, I need to get something in me. And then I’d eat a handful of cheez Dorito’s and a carafe of coffee and ignore the rumblings of protest in my stomach, my core.

I am the opposite of so many of my friends who crave ice cream and chocolate fudge sundaes when they get stressed out. If I am hurt or worried or really damned scared, I lose every bit of appetite I have. This is a bad thing, and I’m ashamed that, for spots last year, I secretly thought that maybe it was kind of good.

I ran into a University friend while I was getting ready to move from my city, away from the shadows of my ex and closer to my strong family support system.

“Wow!” she exclaimed, “Kristin, you’re so thin! Have you been working out? Or changed your diet? Tell me!”

I smiled ruefully,”It’s the stress diet,”I said,”The breakup from hell diet, it works every time!”

I made light of it. I underlined the unhealthiness of it all. But truthfully: I looked in the mirror at the jeans sagging off my butt, at my alarmingly skinny arms and I thought: I look a little bit good. Skinny is not all bad.

Though I was 100%, dubiously unhealthy, I relished the fact that I had to buy all new clothes, that I could sometimes fit into a size 4, when all my adult life I’d been an 8 or a 10. My face was gaunt, my lips were peeling off my face and my hair was falling out in clumps, and though I professed to be ashamed of my rapid weight loss in public, my dirty secret was this: I liked being skinny, unhealthy or not.

As of tonight, exactly two years after the dissolution of the relationship of the man I thought I’d call my husband, I have gained back every pound I’ve lost. Eating, it seems, will do that to you.

I’ve been remiss writing here, because I’ve guiltily back-slidden away from Jillian Michaels and away from my three-times-a-week running sessions over the last few months because – well, tis the season, but also, have you seen the damned snow in the Pacific Northwest? Not conducive to hesitant slipping, let alone running, and…and….sigh. I’ve been making excuses.

Starting tomorrow, I’m on the bandwagon to health. Not to unhealthy skinniness, not to fit into my size four skirts, but to be healthy and robust and kick-assed toned. I have my strength and joy back, now it’s time for the outside to match the inside.  I have everything to gain.