This week my friend Cindy mentioned that, in our last 22 conversations, I never missed an opportunity to whine about weight or, more specifically, my inability to lose it. That's true, but it's not totally my fault. Since I began half-marathon training 22 weeks ago, most friends, relatives and strangers who learned of my mission responded with the all-too-familiar (and skeptical) "Reallllly?", followed by the enthusiastic, "Wow, how much weight have you lost?"
My reply has been "none" unless I've skipped a few meals, which then scores me a whopping 2 lb loss until I eat a Triscuit. Times have changed and it's not fair. Putting daily workouts before fun and deadlines would have gotten me runway model-ish in the 80s and darned close to svelte in the 90s. Then 2009 swooped in like a metabolic tsunami and nothing's been the same since. What happened to fair? Oh, and P.S. Telling someone that muscle weighs more than fat isn't consoling when she can't zip her jeans. Shhh.
During this week's despair, my friend Betsy confirmed that it really wasn't my fault. Women my age lose muscle mass, which results in weight gain if you don't make some lifestyle changes. Experts say the solution is to focus on weight, or rather, lifting it. I'm so deep in this fitness commitment thing what's another chunk of time? I ventured further into the depths of my second home to discover the weight room. Now that I've gained weights maybe I'll lose some.