In which I've maintained my loss for a year

Last Nov. 1 I stepped on the scale at my regular Weight Watchers meeting and realized I made my personal goal weight.

A year later, I'm still there.

I just want to let that sink in for a bit. Historically, I've been excellent at losing weight, but terrible at keeping it off.

This is such a big deal, and to me, it's more impressive than losing 125 lbs in the first place.

All my life, I would strive, strive, strive for the "finish line" and once there (or when I got sick of striving) return to my same-old, same-old eating habits and behaviors.

I'm not sure why that was, other than maybe mentally I still had not gotten my head around the fact there is no "finish." Ever.

I don't like to bring that up to people who are in the losing process as it sounds depressing, dire and unattainable. But, you know, it's the truth.

So what was the difference this time around? How am I maintaining successfully?

A few thoughts:

I accepted that there is no finish line. There is no "on" or "off" program, you are on all the time, forever, end of story. Yes, there are lax - or outright bad - days, for sure, but I get right back on the horse, tracker in hand. I can't do what I did in the past and expect to hold on to what I have.

I embraced the PointsPlus program. Given its flexibility, PointsPlus is a program I can work for the rest of my life without too much mental stress or any depravation. When I gain weight, I can lose it. When I lose it, I can maintain it. It's so doable and realistic, I can live my life and enjoy food within reason.

I set goals away from the scale. Registering for races has keep me running and running has kept me motivated and moving. Training plans for big challenges such as half-marathons have given me a series of incremental goals spread over a period of time, goals that I achieve and of which I can feel very proud. These longer-term challenges and training plans have me constantly looking ahead while simultaneously working on them today - a potent combo.

I want to make it clear, however. You do not have to run if you don't want to. So many of us weight-loss bloggers run and love writing about it, I worry that people think they have to become runners to become healthy, fit, happy, people.

There are plenty of other activities that are challenging and amenable to goal-setting. The key is to find one you enjoy.

I found activities I enjoy. In addition to running, I love going to bootcamp twice a week. If you asked me on that first day, "Will you still be here in 18 months?" I'm not sure what I would have said. Probably, " *#&$, no!" But I'm so glad I have.

I accept I am a work in progress. I have decades of bad decisions, behaviors, habits and emotions surrounding food. I understand that it will likely take decades to unravel those knots and replace them better ones. No more expectations of perfection, no all-or-nothing.

I am kind to myself. I refuse to beat myself up. I still have bad days, but I restart as soon as I can. I also try to pull something positive out of it. If a decision went wrong - why? What caused it? What could I do better next time?

I work for Weight Watchers. Those of you who don't know me in real life are thinking, "Wait, what?!?" I haven't blogged about that very big part of my life because it's not smart to blog about your job unless you're paid to do so or own the company. I have neither, so I haven't.

I've been working for WW since last November, first as a receptionist and now as a leader. The job has challenged me and given me more than I ever expected. And one unexpected benefit has been that everyone on staff is a Lifetime member maintaining their weight. So if I'm having a problem, I can ask questions, commiserate, whine or beg for help when I need it. Maintenance is an art and you need other Lifetime members who get it because no one else truly does. Working several times a week with other Lifetimers has provided me with a built-in support system for which I are so grateful.

I am not perfect, nor do I have it all figured out. I am a work in progress. And if you're a work in progress, there's only one thing you have to do:

Keep working.

In which it's a beautiful morning

For 40.5 of my 42 years, I have never been a morning person nor, really, an "exercise" person.

So you could imagine how I would fare as a morning exerciser.

However, when I knew it was time to add regular workouts to achieve my weight-loss goals, I realized it had to be in the early morning, before the kids woke up. I tried doing DVDs during my youngest's afternoon nap, but when she crashed, I wanted to, as well. Getting a sweat on was not my first choice. Plus, with the other two kids under foot there was always an interruption.

Zero Dark Thirty it is, then.

I started getting up around 5 am and it took a good two weeks to not feel like hot death around 2 pm. But I realized that once I got in the swing of things and got my bedtime/wake-up time synched with enough sleep, it was doable.

I can't tell you how many times I've pushed myself through a workout with the mental urging: This is the hardest thing you have to do today. Get through this and the rest of the day is easy by comparison. By 7:30 am, the hardest part of your day is done.

I was thinking about this last Thursday during a run. I stepped out of the house at 6:30 am and it was dark. Pitch black, like, middle-of-the-night dark. I stood there for a second wondering why (later I realized we wouldn't turn the clocks back for another 3 days) and then headed back into the house to get my reflective can-see-me-from-Mars jacket and light.

I started out under a full moon, which was spookily darting in and out of thin, wispy clouds. Running my backwoods route, in the pitch black, under a full moon the day after Halloween: half-cool, half expecting a zombie to come at me from the woods.

As cars whizzed past, lit only by headlights, I was grateful for my jacket and light. On a side note, I see a ton of pre-dawn runners out without reflective gear. Seriously? A death wish. At least get a light.

Soon, the dawn started to break, as if someone was slowly turning up a dimmer on the sky. I got to the halfway point of my out-and-back, which that morning was at the crest of a small hill. I paused for a second and looked around, noticing the sun was streaming out over the horizon. The sky was pure blue. The hardy, remaining yellow and orange leaves on the trees seemed to glow as far as I could see.

It was so crazy beautiful, a gift I would never have received had I not become a morning outdoor exerciser. I would never see, nor appreciate, the sunrise over a gorgeous fall morning in Massachusetts. I am not a nature person, never have been. For me, camping is best done in a hotel where there is a comfy bed, no bugs and maybe a minifridge. So to really appreciate and enjoy this is quite the sea change.

So there I was, standing on top of this hill, looking out over a beautiful sunrise, early in the morning and I thought, for the zillionth time in the past almost 2 years: Who have I become?

Yes, I knew I could lose weight. But look what else came with that determination. I became a runner - a half-marathoner. A person who goes to bed early to get up early, go outside and run through the back roads of New England. And actually like it. All of that? Things I never expected but for which I am very grateful.

I feel like working out in the morning outdoors is almost like a secret club. We get our workouts done and sometimes it is the most beautiful setting just for ourselves. Whenever I see another runner or cyclist on the road at the same time, I always want to look at them, like, I know, right?

I'm not saying predawn is the best time to work out because the best time for you to work out is any time you will do it. What I'm trying to say is the beauty of the outdoors and this quiet time with nature is a gift I never expected to receive, but one for which I am very grateful.

The other day I was mentally running through my week while driving. I swear, it's like I have a cable news crawl constantly running at the bottom of my consciousness: Karate today, 4 pm...Daisies tomorrow, 5 pm....interview today, 2 pm...article due tonight....out of Chobani, get to the store...15 PPV left today...

Anyway, one of the things on my crawl was that tomorrow was Thursday and I immediately thought: I get to run. Not I have to run, I get to run. Whoa.

And that is what always amazes me about getting healthy and fit. The gifts you receive reach so far beyond the scale or clock. The unexpected are the sweetest and most cherished.

In which I try Bikram Yoga

Bikram yoga has been on my to-try list for well over a year.

I know people who enjoy it a lot, and the thought of a totally challenging, yet totally different activity from my regular running or bootcamp was appealing.

It seemed rather complementary to my two favorite workouts, and this afternoon I was finally able to finagle my schedule to give it a go.

But, as excited as I was to try, I was a little nervous. I had never tried Bikram before and it was outside of my comfort zone.

I have been running for almost two years and bootcamping for a year and a half. Even though I'll never win a race and I now only occasionally hit myself in the groin with a medicine ball, I do know what I'm doing, and that "I'll Make A Fool of Myself" mortal fear is long gone with both pursuits.

Returning to that slightly nervous area outside my comfy activity playpen was a little disconcerting. But, I remembered that not that long ago I was scared to run outside and I was scared to try bootcamp. And look what happened. I found two activities that I really, truly love, and have given me so much more than improved health and fitness.

Therefore, I shaved my legs, put on a fresh layer of deodorant and headed to the studio this afternoon for the 4 pm class.

I got there early to get a lay of the land: where do I put my shoes? Can I rent a mat? Where's the bathroom? And, most importantly, to ensure I got a spot in the waaaay back of the studio.

I indeed got a spot in the back of the room, which is heated to 100 degrees. I had concerns about how I would handle the heat, as I'm not flocking outside during the summer on such days, but - really - it was a dry heat. I laid down my mat and followed everyone else's lead: flat on my back, quietly relaxing like a lizard on a rock in the Mojave.

I could get used to this.

Soon, the instructor came in and we got down to the poses - 26 in 90 minutes. The instructor stood on a low platform in the middle of the room and, like a DVD commentary, narrated the class through the poses with a series of instructions, form checks, inspiration, reassurance and funny stories.

There were several new students in the class (which had about 24 people at 4 pm on a Saturday, impressive!), thank goodness. The instructor was very encouraging to new students, which I really appreciated, underscoring that we shouldn't try anything that causes pain or try to keep up with veteran practitioners.

Amusingly, I had to keep remind/stop myself from the temptation of Keeping Up With The Flexible Joneses. I'd look at some frighteningly flexible person, battle those natural competitive instincts and think, "OK, this literally is your first day with this. Do what you can and no more."

In prep for the class, I drank 64 oz of water throughout the day, and I had another 32 oz on hand for the class itself. Yes, like everyone else I was sweating like crazy, but the heat was comforting and soothing. My body felt like a lazy pretzel and I liked it.

Some poses I could do, others I had to modify quite a bit. I looked around the room and saw many others - newbies and vets - modifying, too. I saw all sizes and ages - it was no bikini triathlete supermodel class, thank goodness.

At one point, the instructor mentioned two quotes from Bikram Choudhury, creator of this discipline:

"Mess with the gods, don't mess with your knees" and "Kill your body."

The latter sounds pretty severe, but the instructor explain that what he really meant was "Kill your ego." Leave it at the door, come in and listen to your body. I loved that.

Soon, the 90 minutes was up and I was a puddle. I stepped out of the warm, welcoming bosom of the studio and into the changing/waiting area.

At first, the cool air was refreshing, but it soon turned into the realization, "COLD! I AM COLD!" I threw on my sweatshirt (which now has to be washed ASAP) and walked to the car.

As I walked out I took a mental inventory. I felt really, really good. Refreshed, relaxed and loose. The poses were challenging, yet doable, I will try to jam a class into my schedule every week.

The more I thought about it (and sweated), the more I realized how very good it is to be a beginner again - at anything. You're open and excited, and your ego is idling, not in overdrive.

You're learning and doing and trying something new. You may love it, you may not, but the real victory is in the trying; that stepping outside your comfort zone where real true growth occurs.

When I try new things, I'm still hesitant here and there because that fear of embarrassment still lingers. But I try, anyway, and that's a win every time.

When I was overweight (aka, all my life), I rarely tried anything new - especially activity - for fear of embarrassment. When you're overweight, you want to blend in, not stand out.

But now, even though the nerves are still there a little bit, I push through. I know no one else in class is watching me, except for the instructor, who just wants to me to relax and enjoy.

So I did.

In which I am no longer a large guest

I love amusement parks, but for longer than I care to admit, signs like above caused massive anxiety.

Somehow I could suffer the indignity of weighing almost 300 lbs, but the thought of being turned away from a ride for being too large to fit in it safely, well, that was one step too far.

When our children were big enough to start trying kiddie rides, I ceded ride-buddy duties to my husband on almost all of them because he could fit. Me? Maybe, maybe not. I know I didn't want to get to the head of the line to find out.

Below left is a picture of me in June 2010, three months before I rejoined Weight Watchers (click for a bigger version). It was proof of the rare ride I went on, I knew I could fit in that turtle, and I did - just barely. I remember that drop-bar was diggin' in pretty hard, but I made it work.

Anyway, cut to last week, on the right. It was a world of difference, knowing I could fit in any ride I so chose. I could wait in line, without anxiety. If the kids wanted to go on a ride, I could go, too.

Later that day I was relishing sitting on a bench while the kids frolicked around a splash pad. A woman came and sat next to me. We exchanged "Hi, thank God, a bench"-es and I noticed she resembled me physically two years ago.

Her husband came over and they started a discussion about who was going on what ride next and she flat-out said, "I won't fit on them." She laughed it off, but I knew it was a front. (I swear I wasn't trying to snoop, but she was sitting right next to me.)

I knew that laugh. I knew what lies beneath. I'm glad it's in the past.

I've written it before and I will write it again: You encounter more victories off the scale than on it. This is one of those.

In which small victories are big

I so did not want to work out this morning.

I'm getting slammed with late-night work and that, combined with early-morning activity, is beating me up. I'm not getting to bed as early as I should and that's making my already aggressive lifestyle more difficult.

Case in point: Today. I only got about 5.5 hours of sleep. The alarm went off at 4:45 am. I hit Snooze until 5:30 am. 5:30 am and I am already behind the Eight Ball. Not a great way to start my day.

I came downstairs and heard rain. YAY! No running this morning. I'm heading into the last month of half-marathon training and this week is the apex - the highest mileage, the most time on the road. This is also a crazy time with work and home obligations, so of course they had to be the same week.

Today's run called for 60 minutes. That's longer than I like on a weekday because it means I have to get up even earlier than normal to eat, warm up, get out and get back before getting everyone off to where they're headed for the day.

Plus, I wanted to run at the track to work on my ChiRunning technique, so I had to factor in a 7-minute drive. Only 7 minutes, sure, but 7 minutes I didn't have to spare today.

So when I heard the rain I was psyched. A guilt-free, get-out-of-a-run card. I sat on the couch, ate my favorite protein bar, drank Diet Coke and read the New York Post on my iPad (my morning ritual). Then I realized, I didn't hear rain. Crap.

I checked the back porch, hoping to see raindrops plinking off the deck. Nothing. It seems the "rain" I heard was wind blowing the overnight rain off the trees. Crud.

I stood in the kitchen and thought it out. This is the only time you can run today. If you do not run this morning, you will be pissed at yourself all day. You're already tired, do you really want to add angry, too?

Then I realized if I ran, I could enjoy a cup of Barbara's Puffins, my favorite carbo-loading pre-run food. No run, no cereal. All right, I'll run.

I ate my cereal, got dressed and headed over to the track. It was muggy and hot for 6:30 am, but I was already there: the hardest part is everything that comes before I hit Start on my Garmin. So I hit Start and off I went.

I hadn't run at the track in months, so an hour going round and round like a stock car wasn't as deadly boring as I thought it may be. Time passed relatively quickly and I got my time in. Happy day.

I walked off the track after 60 minutes, sweaty and sticky, but with a clean conscience. Now, I could start the rest of my day.

I've found that the smallest victories are not only off the scale, but they're also the biggest. All those small behavior changes and good decisions add up. All of the I don't wanna, but I will anyway-s...

The scale, the finish line, they're flashy locales as that's where we think we get the big wins. But they're just the effect of success, not the cause. All those little, everyday good moves you make add up - they're where you win everyday.

In which my bloodwork is back

Last month I went to see my primary care physician for my annual checkup.

This was a big deal because I think it's the first time in forever that I ever went back on schedule. If I had to go to the doctor, I usually blew off the follow-up because I was going to get, eventually (and rightly), The Talk, aka, "You've got to lose weight."

But since getting to goal and maintaining my weight, I am now all about going to the doctors because it's all praise. And you know me, if I'm going to get a compliment, I will be there.

Last year my doctor was super impressed, I think at that point I had lost around 80 pounds. This year, he was over the moon. Not only had I reached a healthy weight, I was staying there. And we all know that staying there - not getting there - is the real fight. (I hate to be the one to tell you this in case you were unaware, but it is the truth.)

Anyway, I was excited to get my bloodwork results back to see how I did. I knew they would be good since I eat very heathy.

And, if I'm reading those < and > right (click for a bigger picture), I think I'm doing just fine.

This is a pretty amazing turnaround from someone who, less than 2 years ago, had dangerously high blood pressure, serious sleep apnea and was pre-diabetic, and is now a vegetarian-bootcamper-runner who works for Weight Watchers.

In which there are surprises in my drawers

If you're like me, the minute you read "drawers" you thought "pants" and laughed to yourself as if you were 12.

However, I meant "drawers" as in "where you keep your clothes." Interesting side note, "drawers" is one word I absolutely cannot pronounce due to a lifetime of living in New England and my natural aversion to the letter "r". If I try to say it correctly, I sound like I'm having a stroke.

Regardless, this week like most of the country we here in Massachusetts have been enjoying unseasonably, wonderfully warm summer weather. March to July, boom, just like that.

Needless to say I didn't have any of my summer clothes readily accessible, so I was digging around in my drahs for T-shirts, light jackets, capris and the like, all of which I haven't worn since last fall.

On Tuesday I dug out a cute knit zip-up hoodie from LL Bean. I put it on, zipped it up and thought, Didn't this use to be much tighter? This must be a Large. Wow, it's big.

When I shed it later that day I checked the tag. It's a Medium. Damn, I am way smaller.

What's really interesting is that since last fall, my scale has stayed in the same 5-lb range, so numbers-wise, nothing has really changed. But, body-wise? Thanks to bootcamp, my upper body is suddenly much smaller than it used to be.

You hear it all the time: "It's not just the scale." And it's true, especially when you get down to a healthy weight range where your body is happy. At some point, your body will be like, "Nuh-uh. I am done losing weight. I ain't movin'."

At this stage of the game, the numbers on the scale may not move like they used to, but the numbers on your clothes still can. There are victories still to be won. This is also where strength training is so key - not just for your physical health, but your mental health, as well.

However you do it, strength training builds strong, healthy, lean bodies. And the mental lift you get from wearing smaller clothes is a big ego stroke and mood enhancer.

Later in the week, I dug out some T-shirts that were, shall we say, "snug", when I last tried them on in the fall. They were in the bottom of the drah, the "Well, I Don't Like How They Fit Now But I Don't Want To Donate Them Yet" category. But I needed Ts because I was behind (again/still) on laundry. I tried them on and, what do you know, now they're loose and comfortable.

Previous to the past 18 months, my drawers usually only held bad surprises. They were full of clothes that barely fit or were too tight. Now, a season later, I can pull out anything, everything and it fits or, worse, is too big.

Nice problem to have.

In which I ponder my thighs

I was supervising my youngest's bath/prune stewing, sitting on a stool out of splashdown range.

I glanced down at my jean-clad legs and thought: "Wow, my thighs look thin."

Then I realized: "Damn, I have never, ever thought that before in my life."

It's Non-Scale Victories like this that help you keep the train a rollin'.

We put a lot of emphasis on the scale, but it's really important to continue to remember it's about a whole lot more than three digits.

Make sure you remind me of this next time I'm bitching about the scale.

In which I talk myself into a good decision

I swear, 99% of my weight-loss/maintenance life is talking myself out of a bad decision and into a better one.

With food, it's almost always the "I want this, but I'm not hungry and don't need it" variety. If I want something - and am hungry - I will have it. I won't deprive myself. However, head hunger is a far tricker foe.

I have these self-dialogues regarding activity, too. For example, this very morning, a designated run day. I got up at 5:30 am, it was pitch black and raining. I ate my breakfast and read the newspaper, listening to the rain hitting the skylights.

When it came time to think about changing, I heard that voice in my head and that set off a mental conversation that went something like this:

"You don't have to run this morning."

Yes, I do. I have a half-marathon in 7 weeks for which I am already behind in my training.

"But, it's raining out."

I have water-repellant clothes. My watch is waterproof and there's a pocket for my Nano, so there will be none of this business.

"Well, it's still dark out."

*checks iPad*

Sunrise is 7:04 am. I have reflective gear. I will not get killed or eaten by a coyote.

"You could run tonight after Keith gets home."

I could, but it would hang over me all day and I will be pissed off all day knowing I should have and could have run this morning instead of wimping out and having to go out later, when I am more tired than I am now. Plus, if I run this morning, I get to eat a bowl of cereal right now to carbo load.

"Wait, there's cereal? What are we waiting for? Let's go."

So I ate my cereal, got dressed, warmed up and headed out. Yes, it rained the whole 3 miles, but I was pretty dry and the temperatures were good (45), so I was not cold. In fact, wearing the light waterproof jacket left me pretty darn hot.

But here's the kicker, while running all of a sudden I remembered: I really like running in the rain. It's the getting-out-there that's the tough part.

Eleanor Roosevelt said something like: "The easiest person to fool is yourself." That is definitely true in my case, sadly before, during and currently after my weight loss.

I'm annoyed I still try to play tricks on myself, but I'm glad I'm getting stronger that fighting them.

In which I get a cookie from Santa

Last night we took the kids to ride the very-excellent Polar Express in nearby Rhode Island.

While on the train, an equally-awesome Santa (seriously, the best I've ever seen) came around and gave each child a jingle bell from his sleigh and a cookie.

Santa gave me a cookie, too. Well, I have been a very good girl this year.

Normally, I don't eat cookies. I could, sure, but my Points are usually better spent on more substantial, healthy filling foods to keep me satisfied. And baked goods are traditionally a trigger food for me.

However, one does not receive a cookie from Santa every day. And I love cookies. So I ate it.

That's kinda the rule of thumb I use these days when it comes to a treat: Is this a special occasion? Could I have this at any other time?

We took this trip last year, too, and I remember I did not eat the cookie Santa gave me. I was about 14 weeks into WW and I was adamant that I didn't not want to screw it up by having a cookie. One cookie. Ay yi yi.

I still struggle with my Type-A perfectionism/all-or-nothing-ness when it comes to healthy eating. Years of failed "dieting" left me with the feeling of being "on" or "off" a diet. The thought: If you're trying to be healthy, you can't have a cookie.

When, in actuality, you can have a cookie. Just don't have a dozen or add in a whole pizza and a weekend of poor eating, which is what I tended to do.

But here's where I love Weight Watchers. It is so ridiculously flexible. Since I still had plenty of extra Weekly Points available, I certainly had enough for one - one - cookie.

So I relaxed, took a deep breath and really enjoyed the cookie. It can be that simple if I just let it.

Problem is, I have decades of bad mental conditioning behind me, but slowly I am working it out. I won't be able to shed it as efficiently as I have the extra weight, but I will overcome it. It will just take a while.

I don't want to live a life in which I cannot enjoy one cookie from Santa.

Digging through iPhoto, I found our pictures from our Polar Express trip last year and one of me and my son this year.

December 2010

December 2011

In which my daughter makes a list

My Kindergartener came home from school yesterday, determined:

"I need to make a checklist of things I need to do every morning!"

I wasn't sure what prompted this fit of organization at nearly 6 years old, but I could not wait to read it. When she draws something, it's usually pretty funny.

She marched off to the dining room table, paper and marker in hand and soon returned with the above, which I will translate:

Exercise.

Brush teeth.

Eat.

Clothes.

Catch the bus.

Exercise? That surprised me.

"Why exercise?" I asked.

"Because that's what you do in the morning."

I almost teared up.

"What are you going to do for exercise?"

She demonstrated jumping jacks and those old-timey, arms out, bend at the waist, touch-the-opposite-toe thingies.

"That's a good plan, Marley. Good for you."

"I know."

Nothing if not modest, my girl.

One of the major reasons I wanted to get in shape was because I wanted to be around for my family. I wanted to be alive and active for me and, especially, for them. I wanted my children, especially my two girls, to grow up with a healthy relationship with their bodies, exercise and food.

Both of my girls will be petite (my husband's side, not mine, for sure), which means they will have little room for error with extra weight. How could I help them grow up healthy inside and out if I was a 300-lb couch potato?

I don't bang 'em over the head with my eating and exercise, but they are absorbing it by osmosis. They know I eat a lot of fruits and vegetables and they're right there with me, with the fruit-eating, at least. Sure, they eat the typical kid crap, but they're kids - I won't deprive them of that, as long as it's in moderation.

I never predicted how my changes would affect them and their attitudes about eating and exercise. They know I go to Weight Watchers every week for what I call my "healthy meeting." In the summer, they come with. My son calls it, "Boring, boring, boring." Can't argue that when you're a 4-year-old boy.

I'm amazed to see how all of my work is paying off for them in their little brains, percolating under the surface and bubbling up in unexpected ways.

So, I give my eldest all the credit in the world for her list, because if I had one, "eat" is always No. 1.

In which force majeure doesn't force me off program

It was back to normal this morning:

5 am alarm. 6 am bootcamp. And I loved it.

It's weird to type a sentence like that, still hard to believe this is something I enjoy and miss, but I do.

I really missed working up a good sweat.

Due to last weekend's power outage/freak snowstorm, I had gone 4 days without a workout. Four days! With no school, no power, no sitter, that meant no gym, understandably.

But I didn't freak out. I tamped down my Type-A all-or-nothingness and chilled out. Previously, I would have been susceptible to "Well, if I can't work out, why bother watching what I eat? I'll just get back on track when everything's back to normal."

Pretty sure you can guess how that usually worked out.

But this time, it was different. I went into this rudderless experience with the philosophy, "I will do my best and only worry about what I can control."

That meant not feeling guilty about a missed workout, the 5K for which I had registered and couldn't run or the fact the coming days would not go as planned. The coming days that, mind you, were coming right before my holiest of holy days: monthly official WW weigh-in.

The storm rolled in quickly on Saturday. My son and I were at an afternoon birthday party and when it was time to go home, I made a quick stop at a grocery store on the way for some essentials - which you see in the pic above. That's my storm-panic shopping: buttercup squash, bagged salad, Pepperidge Farm sandwich thins, sixer of Diet Coke and green grapes.

There's a snowstorm coming. In October. So, you know, make sure you have enough squash on hand.

We were in the store for 10 minutes and when we got out, the roads were much worse than I anticipated. They were so bad we couldn't make it up any of the three hilly roads leading home; I tried for 45 minutes, but it kept getting more and more dangerous with slippery roads and snapping tree limbs and power lines. I appeared on my friend's doorstep with my son, a bag of grapes and the six-pack of Diet Coke, requesting shelter for the evening.

The next morning, we made it home and reunited with my husband and our two girls, but we were still without power. We headed over to my brother's home on the coast, where it was appropriately fall-like instead of Ice Station Zebra.

The kids played, the guys relaxed and my sister-in-law and I went off to Trader Joe's to get food. I was so happy and so lucky I could pick out a favorite meal from TJs amidst all the chaos (this and brown rice, if you were curious).

We ended up staying over at my brother's Sunday night because we still did not have power and school had already been cancelled. There was plenty of food that could have called to me: pizza, cupcakes, snacks and other goodies in abundance in the house. And they did. And I thought about it.

I find my Weight Watchers experience revolves around control, planning and routine. During this past few days, I had none of that. And while it was tempting to just eat whatever I felt like to feel better (that's what you do during a storm, right?) I knew that giving into temptation would only make a stressful situation worse - especially when the power would come back on, but my frustration at myself for giving in would linger.

So I hung in, hung on and made smart on-plan choices. A successful Operation 5.1 was still a possibility. After putting in 28 days of hard work, I wanted to hang in and not quit in the last few days. And I'm glad I did.

It wasn't natural. It wasn't easy, but it was real, solid progress.

Now everything's back to normal, the kids are back in school and I can be proud of having thrived - on program, without a net - through a sticky few days, instead of wondering what could have happened had I toughed it out.

In which I fight fair food

We took the kids to one of our favorite country fairs yesterday.

I love fairs. They're fun, loud, honky-tonk and slightly trashy, with rides of questionable safety and food of absolutely no nutritional value.

If it were any other week, I'd had saved some Activity Points or Weeklies to spend in a delicious onslaught of something fried, sugary or savory. Or, all three.

But I have my official-it-really-counts-this-week monthly weigh-in at the watchers of weight on Tuesday, and the timing (72-ish hours) was too close for my comfort.

So, what to do?

One of my goals for, frankly, the rest of my life, is to have a "normal" relationship with food. I know that's a charged adjective, but here's what I mean: I don't want to eschew all good-but-bad foods for the rest of my days. And I also don't want to weight 282 lbs again.

I want to be able to enjoy junky stuff in moderation, here and there. Mostly there, I suspect. And I don't want to hold my family hostage so that they can never enjoy places or foods that I may decline.

It's never going to be: "Kids, we can't go to the fair because Mom can't eat anything."

Anyway, you get the point. Mom is going to adapt to the situation, whatever that is.

So while I would be abstaining from fair food porn on this trip, it doesn't mean I will be forever. It just happened to be a timing thing. I had a piece of fried dough at Six Flags last month, for instance and - holy God - it was good.

OK, so back to Saturday. Since I knew going in I wouldn't be eating at the fair, I planned ahead. I made sure I had all the ingredients for a yummy, low-Point lunch: Board's Head turkey and bacon (yay!) on a Pepperidge Farm sandwich thin. Plus, grapes. And, you know, water.

I packed my lunch that morning, jammed the lunch bag in the bottom of the stroller and had it on hand when it was time to eat.

I didn't feel left out. I didn't feel like I was missing out. I didn't feel like I was being punished. I felt like I made the smart move and I was damn proud of myself for doing so.

Yes, everything smelled and looked delicious. Everywhere I looked someone was jamming something fantastic in their pie hole. But I wasn't tempted or in a foul mood because I will live to eat fried dough another day - just not 3 days before weigh-in.

In which it's a milestone day for my daughter and me

Today was a big day in our family as our oldest started kindergarten.

It was a big milestone for her and a quiet one for me.

Early in 2010, when I was gearing up my motivation to get healthy and fit, one major goal was to be back at my Lifetime weight by her first day of kindergarten, which then was a year and a half away. It would be 9 more months before I actually walked through the doors of the local WW Center.

Starting kindergarten meant joining a new community - a new school, new friends, new parent friends, staff, etc.

And I knew one thing: I didn't want to be the fat mom anymore.

I have been the "fat kid," the "fat girl" and the "fat woman." Frankly, it sucks, and I didn't want to open my children up to any ridicule in school because of my issues. (At right, that's my daughter and me, October 2010. I was about 1 month into WW and at that time weighed 262 lbs.)

At best kids have no filter and at worst can be cruel, even at a young age. And little girls, oh, forget it.

The thought of my kids getting hit by a jab at me, I couldn't bear it.

I knew when I walked in those doors with her, met her teachers, saw her new friends, etc., I wanted to look "normal" or, better than normal.

So it was super sweet this week that when we went to orientation and I met her teacher, I was better than normal. When I saw her off at the bus stop today, I had just returned from bootcamp and was not only below my Lifetime weight but in the best shape of my life.

I was no longer "the fat mom" but "Marley's mom," "Will's mom," and "Clare's mom."

And, in the end, that's all I ever wanted to be.

In which not working out was the right thing to do

I planned to hit the gym this morning because tomorrow is weigh-in day (at home, at least) and I am pre-programmed to try and burn, burn, burn the day before.

The alarm went off at 5 am and I hit Snooze, which is programmed for 10 minutes. Next time I heard it and opened my eyes, it was 5:23 am. Not sure how that happened, but I trudged downstairs, workout clothes in hand, already behind the 8-ball when it came to my traditional leisurely pre-workout snack and newspaper reading.

At the bottom of the stairs it hit me: I don't have any clean sports bras. Well, technically I did, but they were damp. I forgot to hang them up to dry before I went to bed. Now it's 5:30 am, and I realize, to my compounding horror, there is no Diet Coke in the fridge.

Frig this, I am going back to bed.

I took these three obstacles as a sign from the universe: You are not meant to work out today.

Too tired to actually climb back upstairs, I laid on the couch and thought it over.

Since I started 10K training in late June, I've worked out 6 days a week - sometimes 7 - due to an increase in run days (3 days a week) and complicated scheduling. I used to "only" work out 4 days a week, and I liked that. A lot.

I will be excited for this 10K to get here and get done so I can cut back a bit for the winter, say bootcamp 2x a week and running 2x a week, indoors on the treadmill. Give these old bones a break and then return to outdoor running and training refreshed and relaxed late winter/early spring.

Since today was not bootcamp or a training run day, I considered it an optional workout.

But, it's the day before weigh in! You have to work out!

No, I told myself, luxuriating under a fleece blanket watching the sky lighten through our living room window. You really don't.

I've done a lot of good work on the eating and exercise front this week and "missing" an optional 45 minutes on the elliptical this morning will not make or break everything.

Normally, skipping a workout would haunt me until the next weigh in. You screwed up! You skipped a day!

But not today.

If you read this blog with regularity, you know I historically struggle with an all-or-nothing mentality when it comes to eating and exercise. Either I am 100% committed to being healthy and fit or I am mainlining Oreo Cakesters.

One of my goals, right below returning to a healthy weight, is to learn how to apply moderation to my eating and exercise. To live my WW guidelines, but if I plan an off day - or just have a bad one - get right back on track and move on. If I miss one workout, to realize it won't undo a year of amazing effort.

No guilt and move on.

So far, this past almost-year, I've done well on that front. I've gone on vacation, come home and got right back on track the moment I set my suitcase inside the front door. I'm slowly moving away from all or nothing, but I believe it honestly will take me years to undo my natural instincts on this front.

Despite my current aggressive workout schedule, I never want to live in the gym or be a slave to exercise. Like eating, I want to enjoy physical activity in moderation. I now know exercise can be fun. I want it to stay that way.

And if I work out too much or hold myself to too high a standard, I risk burning out, and that's the first step in a slippery slope I never want to gaze at again.

If asked about weight loss, I always tell people you don't have to live in the gym or go on a reality show to make it happen - and I want to practice what I preach. Because it's true, you don't need to be a workout fiend to work it off.

So in today's case I truly realize rest is good. It is important. It gives your muscles time to repair and strengthen so you can work out better and stronger next time.

And an extra day of rest is welcome this week. My training plan calls for a lot of miles in the coming week, so resting up going in is smart.

And with that, I closed my eyes and went back to sleep.

In which wearing is believing

I was rummaging through the closet today and I spied a pair of pants.

That pair of pants - a pair of Size 12 hand-me-down jeans from a friend, forever the smallest, furthest-away-from-fittingest pair in the closet.

Eh, what the hell... I thought, dropped trou and stepped into them to see how far I had to go.

Up over the knees. And thighs. And hips...comfortably. Then the big test.

I grabbed the zipper and pulled. And it closed. Comfortably.

Wait. What? They zipped! They fiiiiiiiit! I can wear these, right now, anywhere I want.

I can wear a Size 12!

Holy smokes.

For months these have been the smallest pair of pants in the closet. I believe the last time I tried them on, months ago, I couldn't get them past my knees.

And now I'm wearing them as I type this.

This time last year I was wearing Size 26, pictured above and on the right contrasted against my newfound skinny jeans.

That is a nice way to wrap up the week.

In which I am no longer obese

My friend Becca recently calculated her BMI and saw she made the move from obese to overweight.

If you're in the former and move into the latter, that's a big deal.

I read her good news and then thought, I wonder what my BMI is?

I'd never calculated it since rejoining WW because the answer, regardless of number, was "Too High."

But, as I've lost quite a bit of weight, I decided it was time and found an online calculator.

My starting BMI on Sept. 7, 2010 was 44.2.

My BMI today, 39 weeks later: 29.9...OVERWEIGHT!

Hooray!

To get my BMI into the Normal Weight category (18.5-24.9) I need to drop to at least 159 lbs, which is a solid long-term goal. Sure my big goal is to return to my Lifetime, no-pay WW goal weight: 175. But, after that, taking it down to 159 would be an interesting trip.

In which NSVs are really important

Last Monday I was bummed out.

My vacation weight gain was not coming off - at all - despite all my best efforts, eating and exercise.

In a quick aside, one of my Facebook friends likened a quick vacation-like gain to "wet cement" - if you don't try to get it off quickly, it will set. I thought that was a great way to put it.

Anyway, since the scale was giving me no love, I went looking for an NSV - a non-scale victory. I really needed a lift.

I headed to my closet and pulled out a pair of size 14 jeans my friend had handed down to me a couple of months of ago. At that time, they were so tight I couldn't get them past my thighs. A week or so before vacation I was able to get them on and zip them up. However, sitting or driving in them would likely cut off circulation to everything north of my equator.

I took the pants off the hanger and tried them on again. They fit, zipped up and were more comfortable than just a couple of weeks ago. They were still what I'll euphemistically call "form-fitting", but they were comfortable enough to consider wearing in public and without personal injury.

I felt better. Sure, the scale was not moving, but, hey, these pants didn't have a prayer of fitting a couple of months ago, and look where they are now - on my body.

NSVs are super important: When things are going great, they bolster you and when they're not, they remind you it's worth it.

In which it's easier to fly

I'm not a big fan of flying. Never was before 9/11 and definitely not after.

But to get to many locales, it's the best - or only - way to go.

I don't fly much, but when I do I grin and bear it.

Another reason I disliked flying was the fact it's hard to fly when you're fat.

The seats seem too small, there's not a lot of room and that seatbelt is always a worry. I never had to ask for an extension, but it was very, very close. I always saw a seatbelt extension as another whole serious level of fat, as in a short hop to having to buy two seats.

When I'd fly before, I'd get to my seat, throw back the armrest (couldn't afford to give up those few inches) and extend the seatbelt as far as it could go. I'd plunk down and pray I'd get the belt to click. It was a stressful few minutes from the time I entered the jetway until I heard that click.

Then it was just plain uncomfortable for the duration of the flight: wedged in a seat, hoping the person(s) in my row didn't have to get up and use the bathroom. And lowering the tray table? A snack and a drink aren't as fun when the table is pressing into your gut.

Fast forward to two weeks ago today when I entered a jetway for the first time in 4 years. There was no stress, no anxiety (apart from my whole normal flying anxiety, that is).

I got to my seat, got my 5-year-old situated and buckled, left the armrest down (thankyouverymuch) and reached for the belt. Not only did it click, it was way too loose. I tightened it and then grabbed my point-and-shoot to get the picture above of all the leftover belt.

The picture won't make it in our Disney album, but I sure won't forget it.

Race Report: SFFD 5K

Today was my first 5K since 2003, and it was almost anticlimactic.

Almost.

Two weeks ago I decided to venture out and try the course ahead of time, and it marked the first time I ran a 5K straight. That was a big day, a great achievement.

Today was almost an afterthought, think the Gold Medal hockey game against the Swedes in the 1980 Olympics after the US beat the Russians in the semis. Like that Gold Medal game in Lake Placid, I still had unfinished business.

I got to the event early to pick up my number and the running conditions were nearly perfect: mid-50s and cloudy. Unfortunately, also featured was 90% humidity, but I'll take that over blazing sun or steamy temps.

I hung out in the car and listened to the radio, and with 10 minutes to go started walking around to Lady Gaga, The Who and Metallica (there's a dinner party) to warm up.

I queued up in front of the walkers and soon we were off.

As I have in the past, I went out way too fast in the first quarter mile, running on adrenaline and the vibes of hundreds of other runners. As we made the first turn, I told myself Slow down, run your race.

I downshifted into my familiar shuffle stride and settled in along a route I knew very well. I knew where it got challenging and I knew where it relaxed, so I could pace myself accordingly, jamming along with Queen along the way.

At 1.5 miles we faced the first big hill, but I'd run it twice, so I relaxed and took my time. Once over the hill there was a water stop, then quickly we were 2 miles down and headed for the second steep hill. I mentally talked myself through it, noting that once I was over it, it was a straight shot to The Dead Putnams and then the finish.

An explanation: Just over the 3-mile mark the course passes the 18-century Putnam Cemetery, appropriately full of dead people with the last name Putnam. Making it to The Dead Putnams was an important milestone in every run. I think it will become my shorthand for "almost at the finish."

Anyway, soon it was Dead Putnam time. I had one last turn to the main road, then the turn into the finish. Unfortunately, I could not find my heart-rate monitor watch/receiver before the race, so I had no idea of time, but I figured I'd make it in less than 45 minutes.

When I made the final turn I spied my friend Kristin, who fortuitously for me was at the race and graciously offered to snap some pictures. Thanks Kristin!

I saw the 5K finish corral and the clock: 43:00. So not only would I finish, I'd get in under 45 minutes, my best time yet on this course.

I crossed the finish line to several volunteers, cheering and clapping. They had no idea what the finish meant to me, so their cheering and clapping was even more appreciated than they knew.

I really like racing. Races are challenging and a little scary. And for me, that's a good thing. Because when something is easy and I'm complacent, I'll eventually weigh 282 lbs.

The only thing I don't like about racing is I'm slow. And I figure I'll always be slow. But as I read once, "I may be slow, but I'm running faster than everyone sitting on the couch."

I may be slow, but I'll always finish.