In which these pictures are worth those 1,000 words

A few times on this experience (you know how I dislike "journey"), I've come across a picture of myself that's stopped me cold.

As in, "Wow", can't stop staring at it. They are the times when my brain literally can't process what it sees.

There was this photo.

Famously, this one. And, most recently, this one.

It doesn't happen often. Sure, I like a lot of photos of myself these days, but rarely do I get stunned by one. It happened again recently.

Once a year, my children get their portraits taken. This year and last, I've hopped in for an impromptu family shot (my husband is camera-shy).

Anyway, we got the digital proofs back a day later and this shot, this shot, blew me away. I've been looking at it for days now and I still am mezmerized.

I cannot believe that is me.

I've touched on it before and I'll say it again: I know I suffer from a touch of body dysmorphia. When I see myself in the mirror, most times I see everything still "wrong" with me. But in the rare photo, like this one, I like what I see.

Especially when you compare it to those below:

March 2010

June 2011

The kids got older-looking and I got younger-looking. Allrighty!

In which it's a tale of two Mays

Good grief, I love Before and After pictures.

Others' B&As were - and still are - incredibly moving to me. When I was losing, I would see others' photos and think, Wow, I really could do this, too.

I was at a Weight Watchers training recently and many Lifetime members were in attendance. They all brought their B&As (we love to) and when I looked at them - to a person - I would not have believed any of them were ever overweight at any time.

I just kept staring, stunned, at their Befores and them in the flesh, saying, "Really? This was you?"

I recently realized May 1 was the 2-year-anniversary of my infamous (at least to me) Before photo.

I didn't join Weight Watchers until Sept. 10, 2010, a little more than 4 months after the picture on the left was taken. I decided to enjoy the summer as a last eating hurrah, so I can ensure you that I was not any smaller in early September.

The me on the left is smiling, thinking, "Let's get this picture and get me inside because it's hot and humid and this 3X blouse is tight."

The me on the right is smirking, thinking, "I AM KICK ASS!"

I swear, I lost 125 lbs of fat and gained 125 lbs of ego.

In which I get it from my mom

Given I'm the mother of three, you'd think I would enjoy Mother's Day. But, truth be told, I don't. At all.

I enjoy being a mom. I enjoy my children (most of the time, LOL). But I don't enjoy the actual holiday because my mom is no longer with me. To make matters worse, her birthday was May 9, so it always falls the same week of (if not on) Mother's Day.

In fact, next month she'll be gone 25 years so, sadly, she's been absent from my life far longer than she was in it.

I think of her multiple times, every day, and Sunday was no exception. Because it was "my" day, I got to sleep in, enjoy a leisurely breakfast in bed thanks to the kids (LUNA Chocolate Raspberry bar and a Diet Coke, my favorites), and then go on my planned 5-mile run.

It was a lovely day to run: gorgeously sunny and bright, a little on the warm side. I ran, and I thought a lot about my mother. With her birthday passing again and Mother's Day upon me, she was on my mind, to put it mildly.

Since I lost my weight, people have paid me ridiculously generous compliments, a common one being: "You're an inspiration. How do you keep it up?"

As I ran Sunday I realized that the endurance comes from my mother. In her early 30s she was diagnosed with chronic kidney disease. She soldiered through years of dialysis, an ultimately failed kidney transplant and a host of related issues (broken hip, limited mobility).

She not only endured her trials, but she did it with a positive attitude. I was young, for sure, but I never remember her taking a poor-me attitude. She was relentlessly positive and strong, and if she ever felt down by her circumstances - and I'd be shocked if she didn't - she never did so around me or my younger brother.

She simply played the hand she was dealt as best she could. Her medical issues (dialysis, repeat hospitalizations, side effects from medicine) were just a part of daily life. They didn't phase her, so they didn't phase us.

I realized on Sunday that, on a much less serious plane, I do the same thing. My losing was just part of my daily life. My maintenance is a part of my daily life. My activity is part of my daily life. I'm playing the hand I have been dealt. I am active and I live a Weight Watchers lifestyle because it's what I have to do, so I do it. End of story.

"Yeah," I hear, "But you have three young kids. And you work. How do you do it?"

I just do. I soldier through, I endure with a smile (most of the time) like my mom. And I am lucky to do so.

Thinking this through Sunday, I realized that no one would be prouder of my weight-loss efforts than my mother. No one.

She was a chubby kid who grew into an slightly overweight teen. I've seen pictures of her in her teen years and she slimmed down considerably when she hit her later years of high school. I have no idea how she did it, I can add that question to the laundry list of "Things I Wish I Could Ask My Mom As An Adult."

As an overweight girl herself, you can understand how difficult it was for her to have an overweight daughter - and I was not merely "overweight." She walked a fine line of urging me to lose vs. harassing me about it - I never felt pressured or punished for my inability to do so.

As the mother of two girls today, I can only imagine how desperate she felt to get me to a healthy weight and what restraint it took to walk that line between "I love you the way you are" and "You need to lose weight."

Ironically, when she died I was a couple of months into a successful "diet" - I think it was Diet Center. I had lost 25 lbs and after my mother died, my aunt told me that one of the last things my mother ever told her from her hospital bed was how proud she was of me for losing that weight (I still had much more to go).

I know my aunt meant well and was probably trying to keep me motivated in some weird-ass way, but, damn. I was 16. My mother just died. Do you really think I gave a crap about losing weight? I can assure I did not, and it stayed that way for a decade.

Anyway, if my mother was proud of me on her death bed for losing 25 lbs, imagine what she'd feel today. No one would have been a bigger cheerleader and no one would have been more proud. Sure, I know she would love me regardless of my size, but I know her heart would swell with relief over the fact I took care of business in that department and could enjoy my life to the fullest extent.

Even though we've been parted for a quarter-century now, my mom is my true inspiration. How do I do it? I just remember her endurance, her positive attitude and her unconditional love.

After mulling over this all in my head for about an hour, my 5 miles were up. I was hot and sweaty, and as I removed my sunglasses I could wipe the tears out of my eyes and make it look like it was sweat, in case anyone was watching.

I hopped in the car and drove the short distance home, then marshaled the kids for a photo, just like I did last year. Happy Mother's Day, indeed.

In which it's my 1-year anniversary at bootcamp

Two weeks before I started bootcamp (left), 54 weeks later (right).

A little over a year ago, my friend Deb said, "You should come to bootcamp!"

We were sitting in her kitchen talking about this and that, and the conversation eventually came around to weight loss and exercise. At that point, I had lost around 70 lbs and was in the middle of the Couch to 5K program.

Deb had been going to bootcamp for 2 years and raved about it. "It's hard," she said, "but it's worth it."

I greatly valued her opinion because neither one of us were jocks. Plus, I knew she had a bad back. If she could do it, enjoy it and keep going back for more, maybe I could, too.

I had been watching Biggest Loser and I was intrigued by the bootcamp/trainer idea. I didn't want to get yelled at, but I wanted the results and expertise, and I knew I had to start toning up.

I hated (and still do hate) free weights and I knew I could not self-motivate in the gym to regularly get through a Nautilus circuit. Plus, you know, I didn't know what the hell I was doing.

I really started to think about joining her at bootcamp. I told myself that if I could make classes in my very limited availability, then it was meant to be and I would give it a go. Well, what do you know, I could actually make the classes. Maybe this would work after all.

"The only thing is," Deb cautioned, "you get addicted."

Pffft, as if.

I contacted Paul, the owner and lead trainer (right), about signing up and the rest is, seriously, the very best thing I have ever done for myself.

I distinctly remember walking into my first class. It was Friday, April 1 - fittingly, April Fool's Day - and it was snowing. A lot. So much so I wondered if class was on.

I was super nervous about my first class. I was an overweight world-class gym class hater in high school and here I was, still overweight and paying money to attend what was like an adult gym class. What was I thinking?

I was so tempted to bail due to the weather and my rampaging nerves, but I sucked it up and just kept thinking, OK, Deb does this. She would not set me up for something bad.

So I walked in, made it through class and never stopped coming back.

I have written about bootcamp - a lot - so I won't revisit everything, but feel free to peruse, it's all pretty good stuff, if I do say so myself.

I will say it took me about a month to get over being nervous before every class. But every class I did, I got a little more confident. There was no yelling, just encouragement and quiet form correction, and no other campers were paying attention to me because they were just trying to get through the circuit themselves.

One great thing about bootcamp is there is still so much to learn, so much more at which I can get better, faster and stronger. Just when I think I'm awesome, I'll get some crazy upper body circuit that leaves me so sore that I wince when I put on my bra the next morning. Or intervals, like this morning, when I started sucking wind after the first exercise and didn't stop until after cool down.

Or the humbling times, like two days ago when I was slamming the medicine ball repeatedly in the ground, took my eyes off it and it bounced straight up and hit me in the business. Eight pounds, right to the groin. Thankfully (or not), only Paul and I witnessed it. Too bad he wasn't taping it, we could have made some cash on America's Funniest Home Videos.

Or this morning, when I went to do rows with tubing that is secured to the wall. Except instead of going to the secure tubing I went to the wall where it hangs unsecured and just kept ripping tubing after tubing off the rack, wondering how the hell I all of a sudden was as strong as the Hulk. I may be smaller, but still occasionally just as dim.

When I was overweight, I lived in a world of self-imposed can't.

I can't do that because:

I am too fat.

I will look silly.

I will fail.

I will embarrass myself.

Bootcamp has shown me through sweat (no blood or tears) that I can.

The leaps and bounds I have made in my physical development have been exceeded only by my gains in self-confidence and self-esteem.

I could then and I can now. All you've got to do is try. It's a lesson that took me 40 years to learn, and one I want to pass onto my children much, much sooner.

In which I (finally) like a race photo

Lotta "finallys" this week.

Anyway, when you run a big race, there is usually a race photographer who takes your picture as you head toward and/or cross the finish line.

A few days later you get an email with the proof, urging you to buy a poster-size print of the exact moment you looked like you were stroking out. Or, at least, what I usually look like. Exhibits A-K.

So when I got the email last week, I opened it with my usual low expectations, but what do you know, I kinda like this picture.

Even though I look like a dude thanks to the hat, I also look like I am actually running, not quickly shuffling, and that I know what I am doing.

Yay!

Putting them side by side from last year's race, nice apple-to-apples glance. But, two things stand out the most:

1. I have apparently the exact same exhale face.

2. Look at the difference in my legs year over year. Thank you, bootcamp and running.