On notice.

My trainer is doing his job.

It happens like clockwork. I'll go three weeks and no one says a word about my weight or how I look, and then I have a week or so where everyone comments on it.

This week, it's been random people at work, and last night, a woman at the dance studio said, "Have you lost a lot of weight?"

When I said that I had lost more than 50 pounds, she said, "I didn't think you had 50 pounds to lose!"

Oh, I did. I did.

At my trainer session on Monday, he was asking me questions about stuff -- how I feel, am I happy with my results, etc. I told him about the three pounds that I dropped and the size zero.

He was pleased. I told him I was very happy with my results so far; all I need now is a tummy tuck.

He was appalled. "You've had too much of a comeback to resort to surgery!" he said.

Now, I'm really not going to get a tummy tuck. I wish I could, but that's too much money and time spent recuperating.

But I am happy to see that someone realizes how much effort I'm putting into this, and recognizes my comeback.

(I'm not going back from whence I came, that's FOR SURE!)

Yes, yes, yes.

Yes, I should be working on the laundry.

Yes, I should be packing for our vacation.

Yes, I should be organizing, making lists and all that.

But I'm not.

I had a great run today, six miles at a pace of 9 minutes a mile, and I just want to sit on the couch and relish that fact.

After we get back from vacation, I'm bumping my daily mileage up to 8 miles a day during week, and 12 on each weekend day.

I may rethink my off day. I may go back to running in the mornings some. Since the kids will be out of school, I wouldn't have to get up that early to get it done.

I am going to push myself farther than I already have.

Running, crying.

Running allows me to deal with such a wide variety of emotions.

If I'm happy, running gives me an extra leap to my step. If I'm angry, it gives me an outlet for that, so I don't kill someone and end up in jail. If I'm bored, it gives me something to do so I don't eat.

And this evening, it gave me an outlet for another emotion: Sadness.

I have had an ultra-crappy day. Nothing specific really. If I listed them, they would be first-world problems. But all of them added up was going to lead me to the road or the roadhouse.

I chose the road. I cried off and on during the entire six-mile run. You know what? It helped. By the time I finished, I felt immensely better.

It reminded me of one of my favorite movies, "Broadcast News," where Holly Hunter's character cries every day, whether she has a reason to or not.

I've never been one to hold in emotions: If I'm happy, you know it. If I'm mad, you know it. But crying...I don't want you to see me cry. I don't want you to see me in that moment of weakness.

Running while crying is, to me, the ultimate oxymoron: Me in a moment of weakness while participating in an act of strength.

A little leeway.

So I haven't weighed myself in a couple of weeks. I haven't changed my eating or my exercising that much, my clothes are still fitting basically the same way, and I feel great, so I didn't see the need.

Then yesterday, I bought some blue-jean shorts at The Gap.

In size ZERO.

Now, I'm not stupid. I realize that different stores and brands size things differently. A size zero at The Gap is not the same as a size zero at Hollister or Abercrombie & Fitch or any of those other teen stores.

But still...a zero.

So that, plus the fact that I did indeed buy a dress at Hollister yesterday (in size medium) made me think I needed to get on the scale this morning.

I've lost three pounds.

Ack. Not what I'm trying to do, but I'll take it. It's probably a good idea to go into vacation with a little eating room, right?

---

I ran at 6 a.m. today. I have a lot to do, and I knew that if I put off running until later, it would be rough.

It was glorious. Not too hot. Not too many mosquitoes. No people.

And I'm done for the day!

Howdy, stranger...

I know. I know.

It's been, what, two weeks a week? (I'm such a drama queen exaggerator.)

I'm alive. I'm fine. I'm still running.

I'm just incredibly, unbelievably BUSY.

My children have seven days of school left. I have a big project at work. We leave for vacation in eight nine days.

So once the kids settle down for bed at night, I find myself not wanting to do much more than sit in front of the TV and not use my brain. I'm sure that once we get back from our vacation, I'll be more active. After all, registration for the marathon I'm going to run starts on June 1!

(I want to clarify: I am still running, six days a week. I'm just not blogging about it... :-) )

I ran 12 miles on Friday night. It felt good.

I accidentally lost another pound. I'm sure I'll pick it back up somewhere, so I'm not worried.

I wore a sleeveless shirt to my training session yesterday and the trainer was impressed. He said that my arms were looking "cut." Now, I wouldn't go that far, but I am very happy with them. *VERY* happy.

And lastly, I walked three miles last night. I know. Wednesday is supposed to be my off day from running.

And I didn't run. I walked. Stressful week, stressful day, and I needed one last bit of something to help burn off the extra stuff.

It worked. :-)

Faster, better, stronger.

My strength training hasn't just brought out muscles I didn't know I had.

Within a couple of weeks of beginning training, I could tell a difference in my running posture. Before as I ran, I could feel myself getting swaybacked. After starting with the weights, my core strengthened and I was able to keep my form all the way through.

And this week, I've been running fast. Fast. This evening, I ran sub-9-minute miles.


Sub-9-minute miles.


I know!

I'm able to reach deep inside and push through anything -- pain, the wall of "I can't do this" -- to the end of my run.

---

This morning, as I got coffee before a meeting, a co-worker walked over to me and said, "Looks like someone has lost too much weight."

What?

For starters, since March 21, I haven't lost any weight. I've lost inches and gotten leaner due to my strength training, continued running and reasonable eating, but my weight has fluctuated between 115 and 117.

Secondly, would anyone walk up to an overweight person and say, "Looks like someone has gained too much weight"?

No.

So why is it acceptable to say something about lost weight?

Better.

Dear Kyle and Katie:

   The two of you only know the me you see every day. The one who gets up at 5 pretty much every morning and is in constant motion until well after you go to sleep.

   But I wasn't always this way.

   I think a lot about what I'm doing with the two of you: what kind of people I'm teaching you to be, what things in life I'm emphasizing, what character traits I'm exemplifying.

   And I realize that y'all have molded me as a person just as much as I am molding you.

   I try harder because of you two.

   I have always been such a Type A personality. I worried that after I had a child, that would go away, that the hard work of caring for another human being would suck all the ambition out of me.

   It didn't; it only made me work harder.

   There are days that I don't want to go into work because I'm tired, or not feeling particularly well or I just need a day off. But I get up, get dressed and go because of the two of you. I owe it to you to demonstrate that once you make a commitment, whether it be to a job or a friend or an organization, you follow it through.

   I wanted to show both of you that hard work pays off, so I forced myself to finish graduate school, even though there was a semester or two in there that I wanted to throw in the towel and give up.

   I couldn't, because what would I say if one of you asked me why I wasn't going to school any more?

   I institute rules of all kinds at our house that are intended for the two of you, but end up making me a neater, better person:

   No shoes taken off and left in the living room. (I was probably the worst offender, because I'd come in from work and take off my heels the first place I stopped.)

   Anyone leaving dirty clothes in the bathroom loses privileges for the week. (I'm not sure what privileges I'd lose...)

   An hour of TV and then you have to get up and do something.


   Dessert is not an everyday thing.

   And so on...

   I'm going to be honest here: I am terrified of flying. And we leave for The Bahamas in 20 days. The only reason why I am not a nervous wreck about this is that I can't show the two of you that I'm scared. Y'all are excited, as usual: Excited to be going to The Bahamas, and thrilled to be getting on an actual airplane. I want my children to be adventurers, not timid and terrified of everything. So I can't let you see my fear.


   So I push through it, on and upward and all that, and you know what? I'm not that scared, really.


   And while my weight loss has certainly benefitted me in ways I never could have imagined, I'm hoping, hoping, hoping that it rubs off on the two of you. That when you're adults and out of my house and I can't control your meals or your activity, you do it reasonably anyway. You get up at 5 and run a few miles because that's what you remember your mom doing. Or maybe as a snack, you pick an apple or a banana instead of a bag of chips or five cookies.


   I love y'all more than I will ever be able to express. Having children is the most difficult thing I've ever done and it's the best thing I've ever done.


Love, Mama


---


I was settled on the couch, feeding baby Katie one day, when 2.5-year-old Kyle came speeding in the living room in his Cozy Coupe car.

He got out, grabbed a bag, and walked over to me and Kate.

"I'm going to work," he said, as he kissed Katie on the forehead and puckered up to me for a kiss.

"OK, Daddy," I said. "We'll see you this evening."

"I'm not a daddy going to work," he said. "I'm a mama. See my purse?"

---

About a year ago, Katie and I went shopping while the boys went to play golf. We stopped at Target (of course) first, and then I decided that since we were there, I wanted to go into Spec's and see if they had a particular margarita drink that I had been looking for.

(I confess that it was about 10:30 a.m. My daughter and I were in a liquor store before noon. Awesome.)


We walked in the store and Kate asked what we were looking for. I told her that there was a special drink that I wanted, but I wasn't sure if they had it. We looked and looked, and they were out of the particular one I was searching for. I found a suitable substitute and we went to pay.

On our way to the cash register, Katie says loudly, "Mama, I'm so happy you found your special drink! Aren't you?"

 

On the run.

I've been busy running (and working and taking care of kids and cleaning and, and, and) so not a lot of time for blogging.

For whatever reason -- I'm getting stronger, stress, anger -- I have been running really fast lately. I've managed to fit six miles in my hourlong runs each evening.

I'm ramping up for the marathon in December. Registration starts June 1, and once I commit, I commit (or I should be committed, not sure which).

Short.

After I graduated from high school, I made an Important Decision: I would never have long hair ever again.

It doesn't look good on me. It's hot. It's difficult with which to deal. I wasn't born with that hair-fixing gene, so no matter what I did, it looked horrible.

So, short it was, and short it has been, for 21 years. Varying degrees of short -- some a little longer than other, some a lot shorter.

My husband hates it. Every time I come home from the hairdresser, he just sighs and shakes his head.

Luckily for him, it's on MY HEAD, so really not an issue for him.

I had been wearing it longer for several months now, but yesterday, I went back to short:

This picture doesn't really do it justice, because unlike millions of other social networkers, I have yet to perfect the art of taking my own pics, but there it is. It's basically a pixie.

(Also shown here, my really annoying tan lines. UGH.)