The scale incident

I spent most of the weekend feeling impressed with myself.

After all, my accomplishments this week can be listed, which in itself is worth celebrating. And one of my greatest feats is that I'd run more than 10 miles by Friday. This may not even be so great to anyone who works out regularly or is a runner. But I am reconverting to my former running lifestyle, and this week was the first step in consistency, rather than the here-and-there workouts of the summer.

I ordered, cleaned and rearranged the entire house, including the new carpeting and rugs for the entire downstairs. It now looks like people live here. Clean, regular people, not those summer weirdos with junk in boxes.

So when we drove off to Kansas City for the weekend, I felt light and accomplished.

But you know how sometimes you see people, say at the grocery store, and they're wearing too-tight clothing yet they seem to feel proud of themselves? That's what working out does to you. I am now fully comprehending the problem of exercise endorphins. How they surge through you and make you feel all invincible and skinny. Grrr.

One of my tasks on the trip was to find a bathroom scale. Ours in Denver was electronic, meaning we shouldn't have shoved it in the rear window of the car during our move where its resolve to tell the truth slowly baked away. I found us a shiny new one, hidden in the back of a corner aisle in Target, secretly on sale. We invited her home, determined to love her, even if she brought bad news. Well, I am taking it all back. I wish I could erase it -- the decision, the resolve, and especially the news.

I have gained 20 pounds in the past six months! Apparently, I AM that grocery store girl in the spandex-looking pants. My 10 miles seems a bit inadequate. Today I am uncelebrating with loads of motivational iced coffee, some nice salad and a new pair of running shoes.