Blame it on the endorphins

I just had a baby.

Not a real one of course.

A business baby.

Last week, my sister and I launched YOUR Best Fit, our company and online course about “achieving your best you one step at a time.”

I won’t go into detail about the class because most of this blog’s readers have probably already heard about it via email, Facebook or Linked In.

(But if you haven’t heard of it, we’d welcome your visit to our website where you can read more and “Get Connected” on the Contact Us page to receive news and updates; Also there is a Facebook page where you can see more transitional pictures about our journeys, link:

A quick summary: the course was born from my sister’s and my respective struggles and eventual journeys with weight and fitness.

And this is why I am writing this blog.

To clarify a bit.

Because most people who have known my sister and I are aware of my sister’s weight struggles.

However, they had no idea that I had any.

(My sister started Weight Watchers at age 10; became a professional dieter and could probably give you a review of 100+ different diets she tried between the ages of 10 and 40; has gained and lost thousands of pounds, including the last – and final – loss of 125 pounds as a result of a two-week involuntary holiday in the Intensive Care Unit that convinced her to stop the insanity of dieting and to start a sane journey to the thin, healthy woman she is today.)

I, on the other hand, never had a weight problem.

I just had absolutely zero muscle tone or definition.

This is no problem when you’re in high school and in your twenties. Your skin gives you the benefit of the doubt. Despite no exercise and a poor diet (cookie dough was a breakfast and dinner mainstay), lumps and bumps are pretty much kept under control.

Then, in the thirties, the skin gets lazy and starts slacking off. Add in a couple of pregnancies, major water retention…

(I looked like a human Shar Pei and not in a cute way)

…and a few extra lumps and bumps. What muscles exist start to atrophy more rapidly and a bit of the spreeeaaadddding thing starts happening.

Fortunately, clothes are a great camouflage. I avoided sleeveless tops and shorts for the most part. Drank Slim Fast for breakfast and lunch to offset the cookie dough and other poor eating habits. I did my own fair share of fitness fads, but all to no avail.

(I still haven’t brought myself to get rid of Suzanne Somer’s Thigh Master.)

Still, I looked okay.

Of course, I didn’t feel exactly stupendous. I didn’t relish my lumps and bumps (nor the feel of my heart pounding every time I took the stairs at work).

Fast forward to today:
Today, I love to exercise and I love eating well. I actually crave salads. How disturbing is that? Even more disturbing? If I force myself, I will exercise only six days a week. I prefer seven.

That this is me now is crazy.

(At least to me and probably to anyone who knows my passion for chocolate chip cookie dough and how much I used to completely and absolutely loathe running, my cardio exercise of choice today.)

What’s funny is that people are surprised because, as I said, I never looked that bad.

However, when my own mother saw the “before” and “after” photos I posted on our Your Best Fit Facebook page, she was shocked. I think the actual quote was “You always looked good to me, but I couldn’t believe the difference when I saw the pictures!”

A lifelong friend complimented me on one body part that was seriously challenged before.

(I won’t go into detail, but let me just say that while I won’t give Jennifer Lopez a run for her money, there has been a significant improvement in this region.)

(By the way, my friend didn’t tell me in my pre-fitness years that this part of my body was seriously challenged; she was nice and kept her opinion to herself.)

My friends who have only known me since “getting fit” are surprised, too, when they find out about the pre-fitness Darcy or see the “before” pictures.

(I think they thought I pretty much came out of the womb with Nike trainers on.)

So, despite not having been overweight and looking fine, there has been a pretty big change on the outside.

However, the biggest and best change isn’t what has happened on the outside but what has happened on the inside. And not just fitness-wise…

(although no one was more pleasantly shocked than I when I rode my previously-dusty-from-disuse bike up a very steep hill without feeling like my heart was going to jump outside of my chest)

…but in so many ways that I won’t bore you with now.

After all, I don’t want to go all Tom-Cruise-jumping-on-the-couch on you.

Although I could.

Blame it on the endorphins.

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