Still, you can’t go through such a journey as this without learning a few things along the way.  Things like…

• Just because you’ve gotten into the habit of being healthier in general doesn’t mean you’ll suddenly like vegetables.  And no matter how healthy you try to eat, there’s no resisting the temptation of the Burger Lounge.
• It is, in fact, possible to not be repulsed by your reflection in the mirrors lining the walls of the gym, and (wouldn’t you know it?) it does, in fact, help you with your form.
• When you lose weight, and you find yourself with a smaller waistline, smaller butt and thighs, heck, even smaller fingers, it doesn’t necessarily translate to smaller sweat glands.  Dang it.
• Jogging is not like riding a bike.  If you go without jogging for several weeks, you can’t just jump right in where you left off.  Especially if you’ve got the knees of an old woman.
• Getting into shape can be an expensive hobby.  But the return on investment is absolutely worth it.
• Not everyone on the psych ward is crazy.  But it’s still probably not the best idea to give your number to a guy you meet there.
• Never underestimate the joy a cartwheel can bring at the end of a workout…even a poorly executed cartwheel.
• Chances are, Eye of the Tiger won’t be playing while you cross the finish line of your first 5k…but that doesn’t have to stop you from humming it to yourself.
• Pushups are hard.  Period.
• Fighting isn’t always a bad thing. (Though I might have a hard time explaining that to my future kids when they see my tattoo.)
• Traveling with your personal trainer brings a whole new meaning to the idea of vacation.
• There’s nothing quite like the thrill of catching a wave and standing up on a surfboard for the first time…or the second…or the third…or really, just any time you catch a wave and stand up, it’s pretty darn thrilling.

And with that newfound knowledge, I will keep on keepin’ on.  I will continue to work on that pesky roll that still resides around my waist.  I will continue to jog (I may have even been convinced that it’s time to train for a half marathon…gulp), and I will continue to do pushups (who knows?  I may even work my way up to 30 someday).  I’ll keep surfing, and maybe one day I’ll actually look like I know what I’m doing.

And while I wish it weren’t true, I know that my battle against depression is far from over.  But I will continue to fight it.  Because what would be the point of Survival of the Fit-less without the survival part?

Thanks to all of you who have joined me in this from the beginning, and to those who have jumped in along the way.  I’ve been so encouraged by your own stories and by your support.  Sometimes, the only reason I didn’t give up on a particularly grueling workout was the thought, “what would my readers think?”  So thanks for sticking with me.

Finally, I suppose you can’t write a whole blog about getting fit without posting before and after pictures.  The one on the left was taken at my heaviest, my senior year of college; the one in the middle was taken on my 26^th birthday, just a couple months before I started working out with Melissa; the one on the right was taken on our last night in Hawaii.

Oh, and while on this journey, I learned one more thing…

• Sometimes God gives us angels in human form.  Mine is Melissa Hinkley.

But we were nearing the end of our trip, and so as not to allow it to be totally devoid of cultural experience, I decided we needed to take a Tahitian Dance lesson.  Not sure what Tahitian dance is?  Go look up some videos on YouTube.  It’s worth it.  It’s fun, fast-paced hip action combined with graceful, story-telling hand movements, and it is so fun to watch.

I hunted down a dance instructor, and we set up to have a lesson in a park in central Oahu.  When I asked her what we should wear, she said it would be good to sport a bikini top with a sarong or something that would emphasize our hip movements.  A brief aside: Amazingly enough, my bikini had not just sat in my suitcase during the trip; no, on those rare occasions where we actually spent time laying out on the beach, I had actually found the courage to don my two-piece.  And I gotta say, it felt good.

So we made our way to the park, bikini-clad and ready to dance.  Our instructor was an absolutely stunning Polynesian woman who moved with grace and shook her hips with ease.  She started us out with some basic moves… “hit your hips from side to side…bomp, bomp, bomp; now rotate your pelvis in a circle; now do a figure-eight”…and then proceeded to teach us a routine.

I loved it.

And it turns out that this fluffy girl can shake her hips.  (I knew I didn’t have these hips for nothing!)

And it turns out that while Melissa has me beat in almost every other physical activity known to man, I may, just may, be able to dance Tahitian better than her.  (I knew I didn’t have these hips for nothing!)

Some of us are born with incredible strength, agility and hand-eye coordination; others of us are born with hips, hips, and hand-hip coordination.  Some of us are suited for basketball, softball and every other sport ever invented; others of us are suited for Tahitian dancing.  When your dear, superhuman friend outperforms you in every other aspect, you’ve gotta claim victory where you can; I claim Tahitian dancing.

Don’t get me wrong.  Melissa shook her hips and told the story with her hands and she had a blast while she was at it.  We both had a blast.  But we also both laughed hysterically upon viewing the video taken of our performance.  And I’ll just say that the routine we learned was not meant to be a comedy.

Skydiving, ocean kayaking and Tahitian dancing?  What a vacation!

You may be wondering, “what about surfing?”  After all, this was meant to be a surf vacation to mark the achievement of my goals, including my surfing goal.  Alas, the waves in August in Oahu are next to non-existent.  We paddled out a couple of times, but I didn’t have much luck.  Melissa fared better than I (remember, she outperforms me in everything but Tahitian dancing!), but we decided our time was better spent on our other adventures.  Still, it was an amazing vacation.

And what an amazing way to mark the end of an incredible journey.

We paid for our rentals and got the low-down on our possible routes.  “You can go straight out to Flat Island, or make your way to Lanikai Beach.  A lot of people like to go to the Mokulua Islands, but it’s 3 miles there and back, and it’s a little late in the day, so you won’t have time to do that and return your kayaks before we close.”  Little did the sweet kayak shop lady know that she was talking to Melissa Hinkley, and telling Melissa Hinkley she can’t do something is equivalent to challenging her to prove you wrong.

The sweet kayak shop lady left us to watch the safety video which we…ahem…”watched” in its entirety, of course.  But we’re good multi-taskers, so during the length of the video, we managed to change into our swimsuits and make our way to the beach to retrieve our kayaks.  By the video’s conclusion, we were on our way to the Mokulua Islands.

As the sweet kayak shop lady had informed us, “just off the shore” was actually a 1.5 mile trek.  And while 1.5 miles had become a quick and easy walk/jog for me, 1.5 miles of ocean kayaking is another story.  As we passed Flat Island and Lanikai Beach, my arms burned and screamed at me in fatigue.  I was out there in the middle of the ocean, with Melissa making good time a bit ahead of me, and all I wanted was to get to solid land and give my arms a break.  I looked back the way we had come, and then I looked ahead to where the Islands were waiting for us.  I had made it over halfway there, so at this point the shortest route to land was to forge ahead.  Besides, Melissa and I had become quite separated, so there would be no way to let her know I was turning around.

So I kept on.  And my arms rebelled.  But I squelched their rebellion, and kept on.  But then their rebellion turned into all-out mutiny, and they recruited my back and abs to join their forces.  And just as I thought I’d be overcome, I made it to shore.  I was not exactly a happy camper.

Melissa was waiting for me, and I didn’t even have the energy to pull my kayak up on the sand, so she did it for me.  She went off and explored the island, and I sat on the beach.

It turned out that all the other kayakers who had made their way to the Islands were ready to head back by the time we arrived.  So, while I sat on the beach, I watched them depart, and Melissa returned to find me alone on what was now a deserted island.

We had a good chat, and my mood improved, and what had been a frustrating expedition was suddenly the means to one of my highlights of the trip: we were on our own private island.  We soaked up the sun, enjoyed the solitude and marveled that we were laying out on our own private beach on our own private island in Hawaii.  It was awesome.

Unfortunately, we still had to kayak the 1.5 miles back to the main shore.  Fortunately, we were going with the waves instead of against them, and the journey in was much easier than the way out.  We made it back in good time, and discovered upon our return that we even had 20 minutes to spare.  Who’s to tell us that there wasn’t time for a 3 mile kayaking voyage?  We sure showed her.

One morning, we headed out for our first adventure, not exactly sure what it was going to be.  As I drove, Melissa skimmed our trusty guide, looking for hikes, snorkel spots, and other fun activities.  “Here’s a hike,” she says, “and it’s less than a mile long.  It’s on the way to Hanauma Bay,” which happened to be the direction we were headed.  A hike that’s less than a mile long?  Sounds like a great way to ease into the day.  So, we made our way to this short, mild hike.

Short? Yes.  Mild?  Heck no.  It wasn’t until we were pulling up alongside Koko Crater and I saw that the “less than a mile long” hike happened to be straight up, that Melissa decided to read the part of the guidebook which stated, “it will take anywhere from 30-90 minutes to reach the top, depending on your fitness level.”  You’ve. Got. To. Be. Kidding.

We arrived, and I quickly assessed that this was no hike to approach lightly; I was gonna need to change into my workout gear, rather than the swimsuit and cover-up I was wearing.  As I changed, Melissa bounced around with uncontrollable excitement.  She was like a kid on Christmas morning, and I was the parent who was holding her up from opening her presents.  As I was putting on my tennis shoes, a large group of people arrived, and it was all Melissa could do to not run away from me ahead of the throng.  I was finally ready, and she urged me to join her in running to the base of the hike.  As we made our way past the hikers who I’m sure knew what they were getting into when they decided to climb Koko head, one young gentlemen yelled out, “see you at the top, ladies!”  I was pretty sure I’d be seeing him again much sooner than that – running to the trailhead itself was gonna wear me out; hiking the actual trail might be the death of me.

We reached the base of the trail, and I released Melissa from having to stick with me.  She took off, running up what was essentially a mile long flight of stairs.  Repeating to myself the mantra, “Slow and steady wins the race,” I plugged away behind her, doing my best to focus my breathing and not pass out.  I’d look up at various intervals, and find her either running or stopped to wait for me to catch up.  There was no in between.

It turns out that after almost a year of training with superwoman, I wasn’t as slow as I thought I’d be.  I actually stayed ahead of most of the large group of people (in Hawaii for a wedding), only passed up by a few of the groomsmen.  In the 30-90 minute range given by the book, I was actually pretty close to achieving the 30 minute mark.  My breathing sounded something akin to a steam engine at the summit, but I had made it up in good time nonetheless.

And while doing a crazy intense hike might not usually sound like the best way to spend a vacation, it seemed to me that it was an incredibly appropriate way to celebrate the achievements of my goals.  Before Melissa, I wouldn’t have even attempted the hike.  Now, I had hiked it in good time, and was able to enjoy the spectacular view…

…that is, until it was time to run down and move on to the next adventure…

That was before I went on a week-long vacation with one Melissa Hinkley…the most active person in the history of man (or at least in the history of this woman).  She has so trained her muscles that to sit still longer than 30 minutes causes them to atrophy and the only hope to keep her from perishing completely is to do a workout that would make a football player throw up.

Our time in Hawaii looked a little something like this…

As I “slept in” to an astoundingly late 7:00am, Melissa would rise with the sun and go for a jog or run to the beach to check out the waves or do some other activity.  I don’t really know…I was sleeping.  We’d have a little breakfast and then set off for our first adventure of the day…usually a hike.  At the summit of said hike, it was not enough to enjoy the views.  No, no, 20 pushups was mandatory, and often followed by a series of squats, split jumps, lunges and various ab exercises.  Our post-descent activity often included time at the beach.  We would jog to our desired spot on the sand (some people consider jogging in the sand a workout in and of itself…), where I would collapse in a heap…I mean, where I would lay out as all vacationers in Hawaii do.  I would relax with my eyes closed, soaking up the sun’s rays and listening to the crashing ocean waves.  Melissa would join me for a time, and then, inevitably, in order to prevent the aforementioned death-by-inactivity, she would get up and run or jump or swim or do some other activity.  I don’t really know…I was relaxing with my eyes closed.  Then would come time for our afternoon activity…ocean kayaking, Tahitian dance lessons (oh yes…Tahitian dance lessons.  More on that later…), or perhaps another hike.

We would then return to our condo where we would freshen up – freshening up including showers and a liberal application of aloe to the inevitable sunburn acquired during our many outdoor activities…for me, that is.  Melissa doesn’t sunburn; just another one of her superhuman qualities.  We’d head out for a fabulous dinner (fresh fish galore!) and then we’d walk around Waikiki (Japanese tourists galore!).  Upon returning to our condo, I would generally collapse in utter exhaustion…the most contented and delighted exhaustion possible, but exhaustion nonetheless.

Rest, recover, and repeat.  What a vacation!

Melissa and I set off for what I thought would be the adventure of a lifetime.  I had no idea.

We landed in Honolulu on a particularly beautiful day, and made our way from the airport in our rental car: a shiny new red convertible…with the top down, of course. We got settled in and then went exploring.  Over a lunch of fish tacos and Kona Longboard Island Lager, we discussed our agenda for the week: fun, fun, relaxing, working out, and more fun.  “The sky’s the limit,” I said.

So we took it to the limit.  Literally.

The next morning, we made our way up through the lush center of Oahu to the north shore.  Our destination: Dillingham Airfield.  Of all the places to go on Oahu’s gorgeous shoreline, why on earth would we go to Dillingham Airfield?  To go skydiving, of course.

Yes, skydiving.  As I nervously filled out the pages and pages worth of necessary liability waivers stating in no uncertain terms that I was about to fling myself out of an airplane at 15,000 feet, and there was, in fact, the risk that I could die, I was struck by a thought.  God had kept me alive through a year of intense suicidal depression; how ironic would it be if He took me home now?

Welp, what a way to go.

I finished signing the forms, only briefly pausing at the clause asking me to state that I did not, in fact, have any mental illnesses precluding me from being able to make the jump (Melissa assured me that I did not), and then it was time to meet my tandem instructor.

Of course I would get the young good-looking guy with a wry sense of humor who’s had more than his fair share of practice charming the young tourist entrusting her life to him.  As we made our way to the small aircraft which would be taking us up to that perilous altitude, he checked my harness to make sure it was on properly.  I asked him if he was going to double-check it…just to be safe.  His reply?  “I’m gonna be checking you out so many times before this thing’s over.”  Oh geez.  And as we made our ascent, and he positioned himself behind me to attach me to himself, I turned and asked him if we were connected…”I definitely feel a connection.”  Oh geez.

A few more minutes, and then it was time.  The door was opened, and me and Rico Suave inched our way toward it.  Apparently as we did I said, “Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!” in quick succession.  I don’t really remember that.  All I remember was that one moment we were in the plane, and the next we were hurtling toward the ground in one of the most thrilling moments of my life.  We fell through a layer of clouds and then there was the island, majestic in its beauty and awesome at a 10,000 foot vantage point.  Our chute opened (not time to go home, after all), and then it was just a glorious ride back to earth.

We landed first, and we waited for the others to join us.  Melissa and her guy had done a gainer out of the plane…I wish I could’ve seen it, but at that point, I was several thousand feet below her, trying not to scream like a little girl.  She came in for a near-perfect landing (does this girl do anything that’s not near-perfect?  Well…actually, yes.  More on that later…) and after a few parting photos we got in our car.  It was 10:30am on our first full day in Hawaii, and we had already gone skydiving.  After such a thrilling experience, we might as well pack up and go home, right?  Absolutely not.

So I began to hope a bit.  And I mentioned the idea to a few close friends.  I delayed on pitching it to Melissa, for fear that she would laugh and say that there was no way it would happen.  But when I did pitch it to her, she didn’t laugh.  She encouraged me to keep working, and the Secret Goal became my motivation in the toughest workouts.

As I began to reach my other goals, the desire to achieve the Secret Goal only intensified.  When I hit my plateau, it was the Secret Goal which spurred me on in my fitness efforts.  My weight-loss competition against Melissa was made bearable because I knew that even if I lost, I would be that much closer to achieving the Secret Goal.

And on that fateful day when I weighed in at the studio, and stripped down to my sports bra, I knew that the Secret Goal was no longer out of reach.  With a trip to Hawaii just a week away, I fulfilled the Secret Goal.

I bought a bikini.

Gasp!  A bikini?!  Had this fluffy girl really slimmed down enough to wear a bikini?!  In public?!  Would my midriff, which had never yet been exposed to the light of day, actually see the sun’s rays on a white sandy beach in Hawaii?  Me…the girl who always bought swimsuits with skirts and any other added fabric just to cover as much as physically possible while still being considered a swimsuit…I was going to wear a bikini?

Only time would tell.  I packed my bags for Hawaii, bikini and all, and set off to celebrate the achievement of my goals…all four of them.

During the last week, I started to get some comments from various friends to the tune of “you’re looking leaner”.  Maybe, just maybe it was true.  Maybe there was some hope after all.

Of course, I may have slipped once or twice.  After all, what could be better after a long and draining day of work than a big cheeseburger from Burger Lounge?  And what could go better with that big cheeseburger than an ice cold pale ale?  I submit to you that nothing could be better.  Burger Lounge always was my downfall.

Weigh-in day arrived, and I was pretty sure it could go either way…I knew Melissa hadn’t quite put in the effort that I had, but I also knew it wouldn’t take much effort on her part to lose a few pounds (oh, the injustice).  It may have been suggested to me that I should dehydrate myself by consuming a few too many adult beverages the night before the weigh-in, but considering my track record with such things, I declined; I had to be able to stand up on the scale, after all.

So, fully hydrated, I made my way to the scale in the back of the studio.  I insisted that Melissa go first.  She immediately pulled off her socks and shoes and stripped down to her sports bra and shorts.  She stepped on the scale and I waited for the result…2 pounds.  She’d only lost 2 pounds.  Surely after 4 weeks of passing on the sweets and the carbs (minus one trip to the Burger Lounge), surely after 4 weeks of stepping up my jogging efforts and other activity, surely I had lost more than 2 pounds…right?

I stepped on the scale…it wasn’t looking too good.  The lever was dangerously close to balancing at a loss of 2 pounds for me, too.  Something had to be done.  So I did the only thing I could.  This fluffy girl stripped down to her sports bra and shorts…a move I wouldn’t have dreamt of 8 months before.

And with that little bit of help, it was decided.  I’d lost 2.5 pounds.  I’d won.  Not by much, but I’d won.

I must admit, I was hoping for a bit of a better showing than that.  Melissa assured me that I was actually right on track…apparently a healthy rate of weight-loss is ½ a pound per week.  I think she was just trying to make me feel better…

Though I hadn’t lost as much as I had hoped, the competition did afford me the one encouraging result that I was actually comfortable enough to take my shirt off in a public setting.  Okay, okay, so the studio isn’t exactly your local mega-gym full of meatheads, but the point is, this journey of weight loss and fitness had given me a new confidence in my self-image.  I could wear a sports bra and not be completely mortified by my reflection in the mirrors plastered all over the walls of the studio.  To be honest, that meant more to me than the fact that I had beat Melissa.

And that, my friends, brings us to the final, as yet unpublished, goal.  A goal I refer to as “The Secret Goal”…

Now, generally, I consider a workout with Melissa to be a day’s worth of exercise.  Especially considering the fact that I end up soaked through with sweat and have to immediately jump in the shower for the sake of any poor soul who might come into contact with me after my workout.

But on my birthday, I had goals to achieve in the presence of my very own fan club.

So, I hopped in the shower for a quick rinse (there are poor souls to think of, after all) and then we made our way to the beach for goal number one: surfing.  Alex joined me, and we showed my family how it’s done…and by “it” I mean “catching the whitewash and briefly standing up before falling off.”  Apparently, my family could tell which one was me because I’d go to plug my nose as I fell…not exactly surfer chick etiquette.  But I didn’t care; I was surfing on my birthday, and I was having a blast.

We got lunch at the Burger Lounge (I’ve heard somewhere that calories don’t count on your birthday…we’ll just go with that), and then spent a little time in the afternoon resting.  Then it was off to the park where my 5k was being held.

My 5k.  It might as well have been my 5k.  When we arrived, there were almost no other people there, and I wondered if we were in the right place.  But the small banner heralding the finish line assured me I was, and I checked in and got my bib.  My two dear roommates came and entered the race to run it with me, and as we waited for the start, they joined me for some pre-race warm-up.

Warm-up including pushups.  I don’t know if it was the support of my family and friends or the adrenaline from the whole atmosphere or the fact that my roommate was doing them next to me, but 20 pushups didn’t seem so bad…I even did 21 for good measure.  This is a big deal, folks, considering I’d already spent a good portion of the day working my arms through strength training with Melissa and paddling out while surfing.

Soon, it was time for the race to begin.  So, we lined up at the starting line…all 30 or so of us.  Okay, so this race didn’t exactly have the same vibe as the Rock ‘n Roll Marathon thousands had run a month before.  In fact, it had a vibe very similar to that awful day in PE when my teacher had laughed at me and told me to compete against all my classmates…the awful day when I was dead last by at least a lap, and I ran in solo humiliation.

There were the same athletic ones who took their run far too seriously, and there were the same girls who huddled in the back of the pack.  But there were a few very important factors which made this race different from high school PE: I was not alone, and I knew I could run the whole thing.

The race began – I wish I could say there was a gunshot…alas, it was a guy on a megaphone saying, “ready, set, go!” – and we were off.

I felt pretty good…only slightly disheartened when the woman pushing her two children in a stroller passed me…and my roommates kept me distracted from my inability to breathe by chatting about various topics: traveling, work, sex (am I allowed to say that?  Well, it’s true.  There’s nothing quite like sex to distract one from the pain of running).

The course consisted of two laps around a park.  So, as we were making our way in from the first lap, my family and friends were there to cheer me on.  And the organizer of the race was there calling out the time… “17 minutes!  You can do it!”  I thought that was awful nice of him until I realized that he was calling it out to the guy right behind me who was finishing his second lap and therefore finishing the race.  Oh geez.

But we pressed on, and with the encouragement of my roommates running beside me, we neared the finish line.  I’m not quite sure what came over me, but I flat out sprinted to the end, to the cheers of my supporters.  It was the. best. feeling.  The only thing that would’ve topped it is if Eye of the Tiger was playing in the background…

I’d done it.  I’d run my first 5k.  I’d accomplished all my goals.  I’d reached my 27^th birthday and celebrated it with perhaps the most active day of my entire lifetime.

And it felt good.

Clue #1:  Melissa Hinkley doesn’t plan ahead.

Clue #2:  Melissa Hinkley doesn’t plan birthday dinners ahead.

Clue #3:  Melissa Hinkley doesn’t plan birthday dinners at nice restaurants ahead.

Clue #4: Melissa Hinkley doesn’t usually care about getting places early to get a good table, but she arranged for me and Bobby to do so, saying she’d meet us there later.

Clue #5:  Bobby just had to shoot off a quick text as we were leaving for the restaurant.

Let’s just say I knew something was up.

What I didn’t know was that my mom, dad, sister and cousin had all driven out from Arizona to celebrate with me.  What I didn’t know was that my mom had gotten in touch with Melissa, my roommates, and other friends (facebook is quite a useful tool) weeks before to arrange a birthday dinner with all of these dear people.  What I didn’t know was that she had arranged for me to have the next day off of work so that I could do all three of my goals with my family cheering me on all the way.

It was awesome.  And overwhelming.  And as I sat at the table, surrounded by family and friends who had fought alongside me during the darkest year of my life, I was overcome by a flood of relief.  26 was over.  27 had come.

I was alive and I was loved.