Just two miles...

When Kyle was little, he had a book called "If You Give A Mouse A Cookie," which he loved.

Basically, if you give a mouse a cookie, he's going to want milk and then he's going to have a milk moustache so he's going to need a washcloth and while you're in the bathroom getting the washcloth, he's going to decide he needs this or that. (Or something like that.)

Running is sort of like that for me. If I can just get myself through two miles, the rest is cake. It's not that I hate the first two miles or that it's drudgery; it's just that during the first two miles, I'm thinking, "You know, I could stop right now and go inside. I could. There's this show I want to watch or this book I want to read..."

But after two miles, for whatever reason, I am COMMITTED.

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I didn't run yesterday. I did see my trainer, though, who was impressed that I was just as good post-vacation as I was pre-vacation.

I was just happy to get back into working out. I actually hadn't seen him in a week and a half or so, and I was starting to get panicky that my upper arms were going to flab out into oblivion again.

But they didn't. And they won't.

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I pulled on my old size 12s again yesterday, just to remind myself of how far I've come. I walked into the living room with them on, to show the kids.

"Look," I said. "Can y'all believe I was that big?"

"Yeah, I can," said Katie.

Keeps me honest, that girl.