Perspective is easiest in reflection. Only 12 weeks left until I have to run 13.1 miles. To accomplish this, I need to increase my running distance by a little less than a mile each week. Which, though still a challenge doesn’t seem so impossible to me anymore. Even as I sport sore shins after yesterday’s not-quite-5-miles (ahem, 4.62) outside run.

JB did me a solid tonight when he listened to me talk about how I’ve been all running like Forrest Gump yet have only lost 5-ish pounds. I mean, really. I ran 4.62 miles yesterday morning AND went to the pool with the kids in the afternoon. Other Self could watch someone else do that, while chain-smoking from a chair, and still lose 10 pounds.

As I pointed all of this out to my supportive–but not in the gratuitous blowing smoke up ass way– husband, he threw out the hand signal for “Stephanie, shut up”. He proceeded to remind me that Other Self was holding on to the cliff of mental health by one broken fingernail. That Other Self was existing on adrenaline, Mountain Dew, nicotine, and adderall. In other words, Other Self was a teensy-tiny bit Bat Shit crazy.

Alright– so he has a point. A valid one, even. But Other Self, in those 5-6 months before getting herself knocked up, had finally morphed into the Ultimate Hotness (my definition by the way– because who else’s definition matters?)

She’s my control group; my goal. She’s who I look up to, when I’m looking down on myself. But then, in that way that all women have of cutting down other women, I remember that she never turned 30, since pregnancy had already killed her. Rather than repeating Other Self’s 29th birthday celebration– tequila shots in a bar named Hell–my 30th consisted of snarfing down a 16oz T-Bone steak followed by a chocolate cake chaser. Hiding my expanding abdomen in my muumuu…er, maternity dress.

Which is how I ended up laying on the floor, kind of whining about how it wasn’t fair that I’m not already 20 pounds lighter; after all, I’ve been running for 6 whole weeks already. I pontificated about caloric intake data, peppered with descriptions of my resting metabolic rate, finishing with caloric burn, only to sadly confess, “yet I’ve only lost about 5 pounds”.

Then my Quiz Bowl Team husband just tilted his head and said– “um, based on the equation you just gave me, your math is right.”.

Oh. Um. Crap on a stick. Since June 5th, I’ve run 48 miles and burned 4586 calories. And since there are 3500 calories in a pound… well.

I’ve got some more running to do until I find her again. ::absently strokes computer screen in a loving, yet creepy, way.::

But it’s hard to miss her too much, and celebrate the fact that I’ll never, ever see this me again.