From Deadlines to Dumbbells: My First Month Training

If you’ve ever stepped on a gym scale and heard it sigh, you know the feeling. My first weigh-in for this 12-week program was Aug. 4, and I approached it like I did basic training back in 2023—straight-backed, eyes forward and praying it wouldn’t yell at me.

It all started with a simple question. I asked Barb Badgley—our town’s resident fitness superhero and retired bodybuilder—if she knew anyone who could help me get back into shape. Instead of giving me a name, she said, “I’ll help you.” Just like that, I went from managing editor to trainee all over again.

Barb and I talked goals: my Army fitness scores (not brag-worthy), my swimmer’s background and a few curveballs—like endometriosis and an ankle that’s been surgically operated on twice. She gave me a plan that fit my limits, but her “gentle” still left me sore enough to question my life choices, in the best of ways. I learned early that gas station sushi is not protein — it’s punishment — and that 10,000 steps a day adds up fast when you have deadlines to meet.

The best part? My dog, Winnie, has become my workout buddy. Our daily walks through Harrington have been a gift. We see kids playing, neighbors waving and, yes, Winnie proudly leaving her mark on the streets (don’t worry, we clean up). She expects at least a mile a day now. On non-gym days, we hike, run 5Ks around town, fish and visit neighbors.

I’ve been humbled by treadmills, baffled by calorie counts and turned into that coworker constantly getting up from her desk — because drinking a gallon of water a day means living between your chair and the restroom. Eating 2,000 calories a day sounds dreamy until you realize my default diet was coffee and stubbornness.

But here’s the thing: it’s not really about the numbers — though, for the record, I’m down 8.2 pounds, my body fat percentage has dropped by 5.8 points, and I’ve lost two inches off my waist in three weeks. At 23, with no husband, no kids and no degree pulling me elsewhere, I’m choosing to pour some of the energy I give my newsroom into myself, too.

The scale is just metal and numbers, but this? This feels bigger. It’s health, confidence and a shinier version of me — one gallon of water, one mile, one sarcastic column at a time.