Today, I got up without slapping the snooze! I let the dogs out and got busy with my lunges and squats and pushups. I figure, if I can "get them out of the way" early, I won't feel guilty as the day wears on and I'm not sure when I'll get to them.

When I do these exercises, I keep thinking about how my dad would always tease me when I was younger because I was always so skinny. He would poke my bony body and say, "You don't sweat much for a fat girl." Well, come to find out, I DO sweat much for a fat girl! (hint as to how much weight I've gained over the past few years -- I'd like to lose at least 30 pounds).

During my lunch hour, I went to the Community Center to walk on the track. I lost track of my laps -- it was either 22 or 23 -- but I got in 30 minutes. Cindy Justice, who is teaching the Biggest Loser class, said that we should make sure we get our heart rate up if we are walking for exercise. I'm not sure what it's supposed to get up to, but I think it was up by the time I climbed the stairs and reached the track (kidding).

Fourteen laps is a mile at the track, which means I did slightly more than 1.5 miles in 30 minutes -- I have to admit that it's a far cry from the 12-minute miles I was pacing at my prime when I did my one and only marathon in 1998. I may not increase my time at the track right away, but I am challenging myself to up the number of laps I do each time.

I did have a little trouble with one of the other people on the track -- a man about 70 (sorry if the age is wrong, but you were showing off with that running crap) kept passing me. I thought about throwing myself across the track to make a speed bump for him but that moment of scheming is when I lost track of what lap I was on so I went back concentrating on what I was doing.

Note to self: don't wear corduroys on the days you are planning to walk on the track and you will avoid the paranoid thought that someone is following you...

Margarine is one molecular structure away from plastic!

In addition to learning new ways to make my body scream, I learned that butter is better. Although I didn't actually need a class for that (I've long been a fan of real butter), I wasn't aware that eating margarine could plasticize me. I'm picturing morphing into Barbie, much like I think I would become a statue if I ate a bag of plaster.

Not that I wouldn't want to have a 17-inch waist and legs that go up to here but, alas, I know that reality, genetics and a desire to continue eating butter will keep me from that unreachable goal. A waist size in the low to mid 20s would be acceptable -- and reachable -- for me. Since women's pants don't come in waist sizes like men's do, I don't actually know my waist size -- and heaven forbid I pick up a measuring tape -- but I borrowed a pair of my husband's shorts a couple summers ago and they nearly fit (I haven't wanted to buy shorts since I outgrew my old ones, but it was really hot out and we were going to the State Fair. I was the woman in the khaki cargo shorts rolled over at the waist who kept pulling up them up even after the cheese curds).

Which brings me back to the class. I also learned that I've been doing my pushups incorrectly and that the right way hurts more and will require a lot more whining.

In addition to the squats, lunges and correct pushups, we now are adding tricep dips, calf thingies, abdominal torture and punches (I think I'm going to be good at that one).

On the shoe front, I went shopping after class and let the moths out of my wallet to splurge on the running shoes I've had my eye on -- not that I'm going to run, mind you, but I figure they'll have the support I'm looking for in my walking. Just trying them on, it was actually a noticeable difference between the new shoes and the kicks I've been wearing for two years (mostly to the dog park). Go figure. I see more than two miles in my future -- maybe even in today's walk.

I've always wondered if that much water is too much. They now know that you can overhydrate yourself. Which in extreme examples can lead to death.

To me, an extra 20 ounces in mid-morning and another 20 ounces in mid afternoon should be enough. 40 ounces is a moderate amount without going into overkill. I'm not a doctor or nutritionist - but common sense tells me that if you're going to the bathroom a lot more frequently, that your body is getting rid of excess that you don't need.

Somebody stole my scarf while I was walking on the track at the Community Center today! I couldn't believe it. I ended up walking 35 minutes instead of my usual 30 and I didn't see anyone walk out with it but it really honked me off!

I changed back from my walking shoes to my street shoes and, as I reached for my scarf, it wasn't there. I yanked my coat off the hanger, wondering why the cuffs were turned up and thrust my arm in, only to discover that my coat no longer fit ... oh, lookie there, my scarf is still hanging on the hanger with my coat that is identical to the one I was abusing. Here, let me just gently replace this one on its hanger and look around to make sure nobody noticed that assault...

Well, if my scarf had been stolen, it would have ben deserved what with the not-so-nice thoughts I was having during my walk.

First, I reminded myself of an old blonde joke that I'd heard years ago, where the woman refused to ever take off her head phones and when someone removed them while she was sleeping, she fell over dead. The person who removed them took a listen and heard, "Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breate out."

I have a problem breathing when I walk -- sometimes I forget to do it for a few steps. Sometimes I breathe with my mouth open and my throat gets really dry. In the past, I found that being the crazy lady talking to her dog while walking helped me regulate my breathing. But, at the track, there is no dog, so I find myself talking my way through everything that I do -- not actually out loud, mind you. Just sort of moving my mouth with the thought of speaking.

Here's a bit of a sequence, while keeping track of my laps: "Fourteen, fourteen, fourteen, tilt your pelvis, stomach in, squeeze your butt cheeks, fourteen, fourteen, fifteen, fifteen, I need to pick up dog food on the way home, fifteen, fifteen," and so on.

But today, there were a lot of distractions: "Fifteen, fifteen, how is it that skinny wench keeps passing me. How fast, exactly, does she walk? Sixteen, sixteen, sixteen, why is that woman swinging her arms like that? And why is she wearing corduroys? Did she not read my blog entry about that? Seventeen, seventeen, seventeen, is that woman really reading while she's walking? Did she not see me throw out my gum? If I tried to read while I was walking I'd probably end up down below on the basketball court. Eighteen, eighteen, eighteen, well, now, I seem to have passed this guy a couple times already. So what if he's pushing one of those wheelie walkers? Nineteen, nineteen, nineteen, ah, the skinny lady is running every other lap. Twenty, twenty, twenty, there's that corduroy-wearing arm-swinger again. Does she know that the tag from her shirt is sticking up? Twenty-one, twenty-one, twenty-one, I've got a ham-and-cheese sandwich waiting for me back at the office. Really getting hungry. Twenty-two, twenty-two, twenty-two, tilt, squeeze. Great, I've got a wedgie. Twist a little while you walk, that should help. It can't look that dumb. Twenty-three, twenty-three, twenty-three, OK wheelie guy, how long you staying here? Have you heard of WD-40?"

Yep, I internally abused pretty much everyone on the track for 28 laps. I'm not proud of it -- but I am glad it wasn't out loud. I think I'll go to church twice this Sunday to make up for it. But I'm not taking my scarf!

There were no M&Ms over the weekend -- no sweets at all, in fact!

Turns out that pretty much nothing on my food log is acceptable -- from my choice of soup to my one and only bagel of the week to my 1-2 tablespoons of salad dressing on the many greens that I ate. No juice allowed. Fish with only lemon to flavor it. I may as well eat cardboard -- or at least only use spices native to Minnesota dishes, which is pretty much nothing.

While I'm serious about making some changes, I have to do so with a little spice in my life. I haven't always lived in Minnesota. I practically cut my teeth on Cajun food and have traveled to Thailand and other exotic locales that do not offer fish with just lemon on it (and if they did, it probably wouldn't be my first choice).

Eating blandly would make my life bland and I'm afraid that I would spiral into a depression so I have to continue to just limit my intake and increase my level of activity so that I can enjoy at least some of the foods that helped get me to where I am today.

I do not eat iceberg lettuce -- mixed greens are my favorite -- and I do not drench a salad in dressing because I actually like the taste of fresh veggies so I can continue to dine on these things for now (I hope).

I also am continuing to slosh about with a good portion of water in me, although several people in my life are dispelling the thought that one must consume multitudinous quantities of said liquid.

Even my sister offers this watering advice: "You are a human (most of the time) and don't need to belly up to a trough to get your fill of water ...  If you are thirsty drink, if you are not, don't!!!"

For the record, I haven't consumed any M&Ms since I started this ordeal -- not that I haven't drooled on a few.

And, you can eat the protein-packed peanuts out of the M&Ms, but the problem is that you first have to suck all the chocolate off of them, and it's kind of tough to find someone to do that for you, so you end up just doing it yourself.

I like to think of it as give and take. What I'd give for an M&M...

Don't tell your husband that, or he might try to come up with more ways to tick you off!

Last night's class reminded me how much I enjoy working out on a flex ball.

This morning's aches and pains reminded me how hard it is to start yet another new exercise. I'm pretty sure nobody took a baseball bat to my ribs, but that's kind of what I feel like.

When, exactly, can I expect to find and abuse EVERY muscle in my body? Sooner or later, I've got to run out of muscles I didn't know I had, don't I?

I stopped doing one of the floor exercises for my abs when my daughter pointed out that I had a huge bruise on my backside. Apparently, I wasn't doing that one quite right because it was also causing some lower back pain (versus the pain associated with working out).

I am no stranger to bruises, as I am not the most coordinated woman on the planet. In fact, I once suffered an injury on a stationary bicycle when I stopped pedaling and put one foot down but the wheel wasn't quite done spinning yet. So, that foot on the floor allowed me to take a pedal to the shin -- did you know that you can create quite a good-size goose egg in that location?

On any given day I can have a large (or small) unexplained bruise on just about any part of my body and not even know when or how it occurred. I'm not sure what I did last night, but I found a new black bruise on the inside of my lower leg this morning. But, nothing says it happened on the flex ball -- it could have happened walking up the stairs, getting in the car, tripping over a dog, climbing into bed, sitting down at my desk, not quite hitting the leg hole while getting dressed ... Like I said, coordination is not my forte.

My sister says she's glad I wasn't at her Super Bowl party -- but it's not a sibling spat. She reports that on her menu "nothing was particularly low cal or low fat so it was a good thing you were not here."

The "not a vegetarian, but not a meat-eater" gave a thumbs-down to our pork tacos but says she did make some of her stuffed mushrooms with a spicy pork sausage at the behest of her husband (the rest were veggie stuffed) and then had such delicacies as "garlic shrimp with brightly colored flat pasta disks and a bit of wilted spinach, bread stuffed with pepperoni and cheese, crab/artichoke dip and a chunk of Derby Sage cheese with a variety of crackers." Those would definitely be tempting! (And I'm hungry reading about it.

As for exercise, I am finding that walking on the track is BORING so I have been walking outdoors whenever the weather allows it. However, I have less chance of falling down at the track (I hope) so I did put in 35 minutes there today.

Last night, though, I was able to get out of the house with only one dog -- not that the second one didn't try to join us. The dusting of snow we got was now covering the patches of ice but I was walking the same route I'd previously walked and I was pretty sure I remembered where each of those patches was.

Well, apparently not! About 10-15 minutes into my walk, I crossed over a driveway to an apartment building and immediately alley ooped on the sidewalk. Of course, I had to jump right back up in case any of the passing motorists had seen me and become concerned. I think an expletive escaped through my clenched teeth as I brushed snow from my knee and backside and tested out my wrist.

My dog -- having heard the rarely uttered bad word -- was cowering as if he'd done something wrong. So I sat on the retaining wall for a couple minutes -- to comfort him, of course (and to regroup). Then I was on my way again, though I don't think my stride was as confident. I was able to complete 50 minutes despite the setback.

Once back home, I stripped off my wind pants, long underwear, sweatshirt, fleece jacket and long-sleeve T-shirt to check for bruises. Oddly enough, there weren't any -- and I landed hard! You know, if you have to fall, you at least want some battle scars to talk about but, even after a post-shower check this morning, I still had nothing. Oh, well. Maybe next time.

So far, my husband the cook has refused to walk with me (literally, at least) in my quest to get healthier and drop a few pounds.

Well, he did just have knee surgery on Monday after recent weeks (or months) of pain and discomfort sent him to the doctor and led to the removal of a ganglion cyst from his fibula, just under the kneecap. While in there, the surgeon discovered that Tony also has severe enough deterioration of the cartilage around the knee that he’s predicting some serious arthritis for his 50s and 60s and he will likely be a candidate for knee replacement.

So I guess I should cut him a break for now, but I expect to get him moving once he’s mended – even though the doctor thus far hasn’t scheduled him for any physical therapy. I see hiking in his future!

Anyway, tonight is the next official weigh-in and I’m a little nervous about seeing the results – especially since I gained weight between the first and second weigh-ins.

However, I can report that the pants I am wearing today were previously relegated to the back of the closet because they didn’t fit so well earlier this season. I actually wore them once – like a second skin, if you will, because although I was able to wriggle into them and button and zip them while lying prone on the bed, it wasn’t a pretty sight. As anyone who has ever suffered the discomfort of a too-tight pair of can attest, I had that “muffin top” syndrome – you know you’ve seen it – where my belly oozed over the top of the pants, like a muffin over the top of the muffin cup.

Today, though, there is no pastry look. I maneuvered the closures from a standing position, all parts seem to be where they belong and I can actually breathe. OK, bring on the scale!

Well, well, well ... just look what a little motivation and desire can do. Last night's weigh-in revealed that I lost 8 pounds since Jan. 24. Now that's what I was looking for! Cindy (the instructor of this class) says 1 to 2 pounds a week is what we're shooting for so I am finally on par.

Getting off the couch was the first step and pushing away from the table helped, as well -- and the fact that I sometimes opt not to eat something since everything I eat is written down and reviewed and there are some things that I don't want to have to explain. So, rather than record it, I skip it.

I have never counted calories in my life, but I also was never as sedentary as I'd become in recent months (years). Even though I might not have been eating the best choices before my weight began crawling upward, at least I was doing some form of regular workout.

Then, my food intake remained the same or, in some instances, increased and I was doing nothing to counteract it -- apparently sitting on the couch eating mashed potatoes while watching "The Biggest Loser" doesn't burn many calories. I still watch the show but now I'm doing it from my Nordic Trac or atop my flex ball -- it's almost like I have workout partners without having anybody look at me (I've never been one for public exercise, except for walking).

For a while, I wasn't sure if I was going to get into a routine because it is a tough job to find/make time for exercise and then follow through with it. There have been times that I thought I could skip this or that because I was on my own and nobody would know. But, I knew and I have trouble with not being truthful, even if it's just to myself. So, I pressed onward. And now I'm starting to see the results I was looking for!

I like to keep my brain busy while I'm working out and sometimes I begin to get a little delirious -- like when I figured out I was on a "www" diet.

You see:

I've been walking and drinking water -- and wetting more often because of it.

I wobble on my flex ball with or without weights. I'm worn out and I wonder if it's working.

I was a weak and weary and whining wimp and I wanted to wave a magic wand and see a waiter with waffles and walleye and watermelon (but not necessarily mixed together).

And why is it my shower gel and lotion smell of warm vanilla sugar and the fragrance wafts up my nose and I want to taste it! Waaaaaaaahhhh!

But then I recalled willpower and how I hate wriggling into my clothes and waddling around so I said, "What-Ever!" and wrestled the flex ball up for wall squats while the snow was swirling up a whiteout outside the window. I'm not ready to write a will so I let go my wounded and woebegone attitude and washed my hands of my wailing and focused on being a winner in my own little world.

And then without warning my sister e-mailed me a link to a yoga workout called frogs: http://www.practicalyoga.tv/shownewsletter.asp?newsletterID=4424685 but I can't do it (literally or otherwise) because it starts with the letter "F" and you do not want to get me started on "F" words!

I have been reading your blog and am amazed at your dedication and your personal insight. stick to your program and dont look back and soon we will all be reading about Shakopee's Biggest Winner!

As my sister so thoughtfully points out, I did, in fact, look like a blowfish before and I always have.

Back in my "better shape" days, I was still cheeky -- I remember kids in kindergarten telling me that I looked like a chipmunk and I had an editor at my college paper who told me he loved my jowls (here's a shout out to Byron -- still love you!)

Anyway, here's what my sister had to say after reading a recent blog entry:

"Ok, so do you need to ask if you looked like a blowfish before? Hello????? were you not listening in Thailand when our guide told you that we did not look like sisters because you 'have a very large face?' If she instead thought I was a pinhead, she would have looked at me and said, 'you have a very small face.'"

First off, our guide, Wan, NEVER used the word "very." She simply studied the two of us before saying, "You are sisters?" and then pointed at me for emphasis (and perhaps clarification) and said, "But you have a large face." (See, no "very" and I must recall direct quotes for a living, so I know this for a fact).

Secondly, my sister, Karen, is indeed a pinhead.

To take things a step further, Karen provided the following inspirational words in her e-mail last night:

"And if you want to see your face, there is a lunar eclipse tonight ... take a photo and then hold it next to your orb to compare roundness."

In addition to receiving my daily horoscope via e-mail, I also get a DailyOM -- inspirational thoughts for a happy, healthy and fulfilling day intended to nurture my mind, body and spirit.

Today's installment is titled "Enduring Discomfort -- Missing Our Old Habits" and I must admit I never thought of eating as a habit but I guess it depends on how and what you eat.

And, while I do like the fresh fruits and vegetables I've been eating more of in recent weeks, I do miss some of my favorite foods that I don't dare make so long as I have to record it on a log to be scrutinized by someone who apparently knows better.

The DailyOM today starts out: "Whenever we make the effort to free ourselves of an addiction or a habit we no longer need, we are often surprised to find ourselves missing the old pattern as we would a familiar friend."

This is where I started thinking that I would really love a bowl full of my famous fried noodles -- and we're not talking Chinese food here. I actually melt butter in a frying pan, cut up a small onion and cook it to near-carmelization and then add boiled noodles to the pan, cooking them just long enough to get a little crunch on. Yes, I miss my old noodle friend and, I suppose, we will visit again some day but I can't say it's in the foreseeable future.

My DailyOM concluded with: "The only way to get to this new place is to endure a time of difficulty, which is a challenge we can confidently handle, if we remember that it will lead to the change we seek in our lives."

I guess, for me, red grapes, bell pepper strips and baby carrots are the new fried noodles. At least the preparation process takes less time.

So long my friend.

Looking for a little something different to do to jumpstart my fitness routine, I finally peeled the cellophane off one of the two DVDs that came with my flex ball.

I was going to watch it first, then try to do it, but it started with some basic stretching so I just jumped right in. I figured I could back up the segment if something proved difficult -- or I could just skip it and try it "next time."

A lot of the exercises were ones I've already been doing so I was feeling pretty darn full of myself as I played along.

Then we had to incorporate the resistance band that also came with the ball. At one point, I was standing in front of the television with one foot hiked up on the 3-foot diameter ball, the band under the other foot and wrapped around my hands and stretching said band into the air like I was making the "Y" in the "YMCA" song -- all while still "balancing" the other foot on top of the ball.

The woman on the DVD was saying, "If you're just doing this for the first time, you might be a little wobbly -- and that's OK!"

A "little" wobbly? A baby deer is wobbly on its new legs. A Weeble is wobbly. I felt as if vertigo was my middle name.

And then it happened.

The band slipped.

Luckily, it only grazed the side of my face and I didn't feel the full effects of being snapped by a 6-inch wide, 10-foot long rubberband.

Meanwhile, smiling Susie -- or whatever her name was -- is saying, "Now make sure the band is wrapped around your hand once or twice so you have a good grip on it."

Really? Good advice. Thanks.

Despite my "injury," I forged on. Bad idea.

Ever done sit-down jumping jacks bouncing on a ball without a decent sports bra on? I wouldn't recommend it.

I logged 45 minutes on that ball of wonders. I wonder when I'll try that again?

If you are ever worried about falling off the face of the earth, come stand next to me because, if it's going to happen, I am the likely target.

Last evening's walk turned into quite the adventure for me and my neighbor, Sabrina (aka Neighbor Girl).

In fact, I'm sure she's still laughing about it today. Me? Not so much.

We were sans dogs since my husband took our pooches to the dog park vs. us taking them along for our walk, so we were moving at a good clip (we don't need to stop and smell or pee on everything).

Silly Neighbor Girl is a runner and is doing Grandma's Half Marathon for the second consecutive year and also has 5Ks, 10Ks and the like on her calendar in the coming months. She thinks she's going to get me to join her on some of these and almost has me talked into the Race for the Cure, which takes place on Mother's Day at Mall of America.

So, I was nearly jogging for part of the almost 4-mile walk yesterday. She let me walk again after "the incident." I let her live despite the incessant giggling.

Like I said, we were moving at a rapid pace when we encountered a very muddy area on the paved trail. We opted to divert to the trailside snow but it was really mushy what with the 50-degree day. So, we were jogging/high-stepping through the snow with me in the lead when I tried to return to the trail where the mud ended.

I know what you're thinking -- but you're wrong! I did NOT slip and fall in the mud. I fell AFTER I got caught in some kind of grate.

You see, right at the edge of the trail/grass but still covered in snow, there was a re-bar grate over I know not what. As I stepped onto it, I thought my foot had just punched through the snow and I did not slow my pace. My foot being wedged in the grate, however, brought my pace to a screeching halt as I landed with my right knee on the pavement, my hands in front of me on the partially snow-covered trail and my left leg extended far behind me.

First there was laughter -- then an "Oh, honey, are you all right?" from behind me as I struggled to regain an upright position.

I felt like a trapped animal and I was ready to turn around and chew my foot off if necessary. As Sabrina yanked on my leg, I continued to try to pull myself out of the splits. I rocked backward enough to get from my knee to my foot and pushed off the ground with my hands so that I was not quite standing but more upright.

My first thought was to pull my foot out of my shoe and then retrieve my shoe. Unfortunately, the angle I was in the grate and the tight fit meant that was not an option.

I looked around and realized how funny we must look, with her pretty much beneath the V of my legs and me trying to look behind me over my shoulder to where I was pretty sure my leg was. Some guy drove by slowly on a four-wheeler and looked at us but didn't offer any help. I guess he thought we were playing a game, so I yelled out, "Right hand, blue!"

By that time, I was able to start digging the snow away from the grate to see how I was in it and what might be done to free me. Sabrina, meanwhile, just kept pulling and twisting my leg -- and laughing.

"Hey, it doesn't turn that way!" I was shouting as I uncovered my shoe and pulled on the grate -- which didn't budge. I guided Sabrina in turning my foot the way it looked would best release it from between the rods of re-bar and -- voila! -- I was free! But not before I announced, "Remove wrenched ankle!"

My foot and ankle were actually fine -- my back stiffened up a little by the time I got home, warmed up and relaxed, but a few ibuprofens later and I had no excuse for slacking (though I did postpone my plans to work out with weights when I got home).

"The incident" happened about 2 miles from home and after getting back on track, Sabrina just busted out laughing again and tried to explain to me just how funny it was (and she laughed some more later while giving my husband the visual).

Uh-huh. "You weren't the one in the grate," I reminded her, "and -- watch out for that mud you're about to slide in! Oh, honey, look at your shoes!" Now THAT was funny!

I had a really busy weekend, working more than I had planned and not having time for much of a workout on Saturday or Sunday.

So, first thing Monday morning, I was up and at it, doing a full-fledged flex ball workout with plans to walk after work. However, the sloppiness of the snow and the possibility of falling down were reason enough for me to opt for time spent on the Nordic Trac instead.

I got in a strong workout and felt good about it afterward, but I finished a little closer to bedtime than planned so I ended up staying awake until midnight -- which is fine except my puppy needed to go out at 5:30 a.m. (thankfully, she woke me instead of leaving a surprise on the carpet).

So, there I was standing in the yard in my Corona pajama pants and Easy Street Wheat sweatshirt (apparently beer logos help me sleep) and my clunky zip-up rubber boots that were unzipped, with my hair going every which way, waiting for Roxxi to do her business.

Standing still. On a somewhat flat piece of land. On the snow-covered grass. Just standing. With my hands in my pockets.

All of a sudden, my left leg slipped (it left a 3-foot skid mark in the snow) while my right leg just kept standing there. So, without purposely moving or having any reason to explain why I moved, I pulled a muscle in my leg.

All through my workouts and walking and falling down, I really haven't actually hurt myself. There have been times when an intense workout has left me feeling a little beat up, but I really haven't been injured.

But this was excruciating. It actually took my breath away. I limped up the stairs and, as I was climbing back in bed, I think I wimpered a little -- OK, so I cried out in pain -- and my husband perked up enough from his I-never-hear-the-dogs-in-the-night sleep to ask me what was wrong with me.

"I think I tore a muscle in my leg," I told him, "the one on the front of my thigh. What's it called?"

"Your quad?" he asked/answered.

"I don't know, but it really hurts," I told him. I used my hands to pull my leg into a comfortable position and drifted back to sleep while I waited for my alarm. When it went off, I forgot about my leg until I tried to move. Again with the wimpering as I sucked in my breath. Yikes!

I favored the leg all the way down the stairs, let the dogs out again, fed them, showered -- still limping and wimpering -- then I had to get dressed.

It wasn't too bad till I had to put my socks on. I couldn't lift my leg without it hurting. I was sitting on the edge of the bed and I tried to bend down to my foot. Too much pull on the muscle. Tried to bring the leg up. Too much ouch.

My husband was in the shower, so I couldn't ask him to dress me and I didn't know if I wanted to wait that long anyway.

What to do? What to do?

If I could get the sock over my toes, maybe I could use the kitchen tongs to pull it up. But then I would have to go downstairs again. So, I pulled my pant leg up a bit, grabbed the cuff and slowly, carefully, pulled my foot up toward me. Not so bad. Got the sock on. Sat on the steps to do the shoes. Better.

OK. Off to work. It only hurts when I move. Yeah, I'll be OK. Not so sure how my workout will go tonight, though. But, I guarantee it's going to take place indoors on a totally flat and dry surface. And I might need more than a beer logo to help me sleep.

I'm a winner in a losing game -- but I've got more to do before it's all over.

Last night was the final meeting of the 12-week class and we are on our own now until September, when we will all step on the scale and have our body mass index (BMI) measured for a final time.

As of right now, I'm in the lead for percentage loss for body fat at 4.6% but I'm not at the head of the class for weight loss. I did lose 14 pounds (post 1.5 weight gain between the first and second weigh-ins) or 12.5 pounds (from my first recorded weight in the class). I'll take it either way.

We were all encouraged to continue our food logs as a way of holding ourselves accountable but, as I previously mentioned, I'm not sure if I will. I guess I'll have to play it by ear and see how I do if I find myself in a roomful of sinfully caloric foods that would require me to write them down to avoid eating. Or if I experience any weight gains, I might reconsider.

Anyway, I know I still need to work on weight loss before I go into maintenance because, even though I've dropped a couple sizes I have yet to see any strong definition as to where my waist is -- right now, I look in the mirror and I appear to be the same size from my armpits to my hips, but I know I have an actual waist in there somewhere.

My shape (or lack thereof) reminds me of traveling as a child and having my sister, Karen, doing acrobats in the back seat (even though there were two or three other kids sitting back there, too). Karen would lay on the backseat and put her feet on the ceiling of the car until my dad, looking in the rearview mirror, would say, "Get those stove pipes down! I can't see behind me!"

You see, Karen used to be what we call "chubby" and her legs must have been the same size from ankle to knee or higher (whatever it was dad could see upside-down in the mirror). Funny thing is, I think her legs are thinner now than they were then (my daughter calls her "Twiggy")

Maybe it has something to do with her refusal to stop doing using the thigh machine, even though it was among the 10 recommended exercises not to do that I previously wrote about.

"They are one of my favorites," she wrote in a recent e-mail "I won't give it up!!"

She then referred me to a link for belly-flattening foods (http://body.aol.com/diet/weight-loss-program/flat-belly-foods) and suggested the name of the class be changed from biggest loser to biggest looser -- looser pants, looser shirts, etc.

Maybe I'll try some of those belly-flatteners later -- after I recover from my first-ever lunch at Wompach's. Everyone said to try the onion rings -- luckily we shared the behemoth order among four of us.

Now I'm going to have to work out twice as hard tonight -- but a couple bites of fried heaven was worth it!

My left tricep, left hip and right (previously injured) quad are "happy" today!

That is, if you define happy by what the mean lady leading water aerobics does: "If your muscles hurt tomorrow, it means their happy," she chirped as we jogged, crunched and crab-walked our way through an hourlong class.

Neighbor Girl joined me for the class, which started last night and runs for eight weeks (Tuesdays only, thank goodness). Midway through class, when I looked over my shoulder, wished I had a straw because only her lips seemed to be above water. It was then that she admitted she only came along to indulge me since it was something I wanted to do and she figured it would be a piece of cake. After all, Neighbor Girl is a runner. Neighbor Girl does 5Ks and 10Ks and half marathons. And, last night, Neighbor Girl was red-faced and sweating under water as she struggled to keep up with the marionette that was our instructor.

That's not to say that I, too, wasn't struggling, because I was. Jogging in the pool isn't as easy as it sounds. And, for some reason, anytime we were supposed to be doing a forward-motion jog, I simply jogged in place because I was unable to create the momentum to move forward. Backward jogging I could do, but forward was not yet an option for me.

There were a couple of moves that we talked about over pizza and beer after class that neither of us was sure we were doing right. While Neighbor Girl was adrift in the diving well, I mentioned to a survivor floating near me that I wasn't sure if I actually understood the lima bean move.

"I'm not sure either," she admitted, "but just keep moving so it looks like we know what we're doing."

Apparently, if our heads are bobbing above the water line, we are doing water aerobics. So, I bobble-headed through to the end of the hour, fluttering my feet when called for, figure-eighting with the foam dumb bells as instructed and causing a mini tidal wave that I immediately sucked up my nose while drawing my knees in for crunches.

As we filed out of the pool, I learned that my limbs -- especially my legs -- now felt like bags of cement. I dragged myself to the showers, rinsed off, pulled on my pants and a hooded sweatshirt (hood up) and didn't even bother to comb my hair because I didn't want to have to lift my arm that high.

All the way home, Neighbor Girl said, "I would rather run five miles than do that again."

Ha! Tough luck. We've got seven more classes and the instructor said she loses at least one student before the second class. It's not going to be me and it better not be Neighbor Girl because I would feel bad laughing at someone I didn't know while tiptoeing across the shallow end keeping foam bricks firmly in place between our legs.