In the beginning.

I suppose I should give some background.

I had my first baby when I was 22. As happens to many women, things shifted and stretched and grew, and then never went back all the way after she was born. I tried diet and exercise, but somehow the weight just stayed. Finally, when my daughter was about six months old, a blood test showed that my thyroid was low. Within weeks of starting thyroid medication, I lost 30 pounds.

Life went on, and a few years later baby number 2 (another girl) came along. As before, things shifted and stretched and grew, and, as before, they never went back all the way after she was born. I didn't worry about the extra weight too much, because I knew we wanted more babies, and I didn't see any point in working hard to lose the weight when pregnancy would make it all come back again. So, while I wasn't happy, I didn't do anything about it either. Oh, except have my thyroid tested again, just in case... but this time, it was within normal range.

Same thing when babies number 3 (one more girl) and number 4 (to our great shock, a boy) came along.

But then we were done having babies, and I realized that I either needed to come up with a new reason to stay in the (out of) shape I was, or do something about it.

It was at that point that my good friend S told me about a new fitness studio her sister-in-law had opened. She wanted to know if I would take a class with her. Like me, she was done having kids and ready to take her body back. So I bit the bullet, and signed up.

It changed my life.

I used to joke that I don't even run for the phone... honestly that wasn't far off the mark. I've tried joining gyms in the past, doing workout videos, going walking by myself or with a friend... nothing ever stuck. Gyms were confusing: I couldn't figure out the equipment, and there never seemed to be anyone around to help me. There were far more muscle-bound hulks and "spandex bunnies" than anyone else, and this was intimidating for a fat, frumpy housewife who needed to lose 50 pounds. I tried a women-only gym. It was a bit better, at least there were no hulks, but the equipment was still confusing, and the support was minimal. I gave up after a month. Videos were hard to do, with two, then three, then four kids running around... a 20-minute video took me nearly two hours to complete, between refereeing fights and getting snacks. Walking was no better. Either there was some sort of crisis in the house, or my husband had to work late, or my walking partner didn't feel like going either, so instead of walking, we would end up going for coffee.

These, as many of you know, do not make for an effective fitness program, and you are certainly not likely to lose weight this way. I was no exception.

Okay, back to M's studio. Turns out I had known M for years, but didn't realize she was S's sister-in-law. Because of that connection, I felt more comfortable than I had in any other gym I had set foot in. It was a women-only facility, which upped the comfort level another notch. But the thing that really did it for me: there wasn't a spandex bunny in sight.

What is a spandex bunny, you ask? They are the women you see at the gym, with their fake tans and their fake nails and the perfect makeup and not a hair out of place... how on earth do they exercise without sweating? Because they must exercise in order to get those rock-hard abs, the butt you could bounce a coin off, the perfectly toned arms and calves...

But if standing next to one of these gorgeous creatures wasn't intimidating enough, it was the attitude that seemed to ooze out of their almost non-existent pores the clinched it: that they, skinnier, prettier, somehow better than me were worthy of being there, while I was not. More often than not, after a derisive look from one of them, I slunk off, tail between my legs, vowing to lose 50 pounds before setting foot back in the gym, because perhaps then I would be deemed worthy of sharing their space.

Now, to be fair, I'm certain there are many wonderful, supportive women who look amazing in spandex and yet offer a ready smile and word of encouragement to the person on the machine next to them at the gym. I'm also certain none of them live where I do.

Anyways, S and I went off to M's studio. I still remember that first class. For the first five minutes I thought, "I can do this!" The next five were spent thinking I was going to die. By fifteen minutes in, though, the endorphins had kicked in, and I spent the rest of the class riding a fitness high.

I could do it. I LOVED exercising! It was great. I was going to be so healthy, in better shape than I had ever been in my life.

I spent the next week in agony. I could go up stairs, but not down. I could sit down, but not get up again. Advil became my best friend. My muscles were in shock and disbelief. What had I done to them? How could I betray them this way? I never thought they had betrayed me -- after all, it was my own fault I was in the sorry shape I was in.

But things got easier, and soon I started to see some changes. So began my love affair with working out.