����Today marks the six month anniversary of Marn In Gymland, and as I expected it has changed my body. What I did not expect is how it has changed my spirit.

����Where oh where to begin?

����Well, first off, today I did what any seasoned, mature 50-year-old woman would do to mark this momentous occasion. Yep, that's right, I held a pose down with my trainer, Will, which just cracked up everyone in our gym.

����(Will would be the incredibly buff, muscular person on the left, I would be the sadly unbuff, older than dirt person on the right for those of you who don't know me in real life. The picture is blurry because we are both laughing too hard to hold still.)

����How disciplined was I about this gym bidness? Well, because I have no life, I appeared at the gym three mornings a week each and every week for between an hour and an hour and a half a day, depending on my energy level, time open, and need for suffering.

����And the changes? First off, the body. When I began at the gym they weighed me, measured me both with calipers and a machine that measures body fat, and ran me through a fitness test to see how my cardiovascular system was doing.

����In this household we don't say fat, we say fluffy. Let's just say I was even fluffier than I am at this moment.

����Wait, It Gets Even Worse �

����I thought because of all the walking I do that at least I was in halfways decent cardio shape. After a 20 minute treadmill test even that last illusion was blown out of the water--let's just say I was in decent cardio shape if I was an 85-year-old Swede. With emphysema.

����And now?

����I've worked stupidly hard on the cardio. When I began, my at rest heart rate was in the neighbourhood of 82 beats a minute, meaning my heart was working fairly hard even when I was doing nothing (something I do very well from years and years of practice).

����Imagine the humiliation of being a slacker with a hard working heart!

����Today? Now when I'm doing nothing (which of course is most of the time) my heart does a leisurely pitty pat somewheres between 51 and 53 beats per minute, earning me the charming nickname of Cadaver Girl from the spousal unit.

����Yes, I have turned my heart into the slacker I knew it could always be. (I ignore the snarkiness of Mr. 72 Beats Per Minute At Rest because, hey, I now am able to outrun him by a big plenty. We get chased by some tourist croaking thingie in Oz, and Mr. Man I'm telling you now that critter won't be making Marnburgers, eh.)

����Um, what else? I am embarrassingly proud of the fact that I can now move 325 pounds on the leg press machine. Yes, should I start taking names and kicking butts, I could cause A LOT of owies. Keep that in mind.

����We won't mention any of the upper body machines, which continue to kick MY butt. My trainer, Will, can move 225 pounds on the shoulder press machine. Me? After six months of struggling against this machine so hard that I thought blood might ooze out of my eyes, I have worked up to moving 50 pounds on it.

����Go ahead.

����Snicker.

����Just don't get within kicking distance, eh.

����Oh, and the score stands at exercise balls 4,592, Marn 153. I'm gaining on those puppies. Just give me time, eventually I WILL conquer them. If not this lifetime, then I sweartogawd in the next.

����And now the part that's harder to explain, the part about my spirit. Hmmmm.

����I come from a long line of suicidal women--I've lost my grandmother, mother and baby sister to suicide. My remaining sister will probably be on anti-depressants for all her life, and I myself used them for a while to keep me afloat after my baby sister's suicide. We have wrestled with depression, severe depression, in my family for three generations now.

����A few months into working out I came to realize that my normal late winter/early spring bout of the gloomies hadn't settled in, although this year we had a particularly long and hard winter.

����To my amazement, I feel stronger and happier than I can remember feeling in a long time.

����Some of it is the endorphins from the workouts, no question. Any way that you exercise your body would probably have the same effect--if you're not a gym type person, yoga, power walking, jogging, biking � they'd probably all give you that natural buzz.

����And some of it � some of it is coming to realize that my body is infinitely stronger than I ever believed it could be. This is so reassuring in my 50th year.

����I had a moment of great doubt a few weeks into my adventures in gymland--I gained eight pounds, my body ached, it all seemed a terrific cheat. Some of you took the time to visit my guestbook, explain that it's all to be expected, and to give me the reassurance I needed to keep doing this. I am in your debt, big time, for this.

����Am I satisfied? Um, no, but then I'm a woman. I've lost about half of the .:cough:. fluffiness .:cough:. I'd like to lose and I hope to meet my final goal by next March.

����At that point I will probably change my name to Arnolda.

����I'll keep you posted if I do, eh.