Hi!  I'm 41 years old, and find myself having to lose weight for the first time since I was 25 years old.  Back then I tipped the scales at 242 pounds, and through diet, and exercise, and with a lot of help from my friends I lost 120 pounds, never regaining any of it until the last two years.  After quitting smoking, and ending a failed relationship I started putting on weight.  The next thing I knew I was back up to 167 pounds, something I had sworn never to do to myself again.  I began dieting, and dropped back to 145 pounds after about 6 months of kind of half hearted dieting, and little exercise.  I allowed myself to be comfortable there even though I knew I wasn't really happy at that weight.  One thing followed another, and I had to start working more because of staffing issues at the hospital where I work.  Double shifts are about the worst diet saboteur of all.  However, at the same time I had the most amazing man come into my life.  I was still a bit gun shy after my last relationship, and felt more than a little trepidation at getting into another relationship, but I couldn't help falling in love.  About 6 months after we met he was scheduled to go to Kandahar, Afghanistan for the Air Force Reserves for a three month deployment in his capacity as a flight surgeon.  I was determined that when he came home he would be shocked and delighted so I began to work out, and count calories with a vengence.  I lost 15 pounds during that three months to my own shock and delight as well as his.  As he got off the transport and swept me completely off of my feet I was so happy and proud of my accomplishment.  We had decided to take his children on a two week trip upon his return, and I let my diet slip, ok, it was more than a slip, more like a landslide.  3 or 4 pounds crept back on, and I reassured myself it was ok I would jump back in the saddle after our vacation.  I returned to my home (He lives in Tucson, and at the time I lived in Michigan...yes, we met on the internet initially.  Isn't technology a wonderful thing), and my job was still having staffing difficulties so I ran into the same situation all ovet again.  Too many long hours followed by too many fast food meals, and too little sleep.   You can guess what happened next.  The weight came piling back on.  Worried about the strain that my job was putting on me, John, the most wonderful man in my world, encouraged me to quit.  We had been talking about moving in toegether while he was in Afghanistan, but I wanted to wait and see how things would progress during our vacation, especially since he has three children, and I have none of my own. Since things had been wonderful I had run out of excuses, and put in my notice at work.  I had another trip to Tucson already planned for an event that we were attending together.  Again I shocked him, but not in such a good way.  I had put ten pounds back on in the time between his return and the next trip out west.  He's never critical, and ever supportive, but I wasn't happy with myself in the least.  We both knew that with the pending move that it would be difficult for me to work out, and do the things that I needed to do to lose weight so I set a goal date of October 31st, Halloween of 2008 to start my program as we had planned on the move being complete at that time, and I wanted to have some good habits in place before going back to school in December to begin pursuing a Master's degree in nursing.  Well as is the norm things often don't work out as we have forseen them (translation:  Stuff, or substitute the usual word, happens).  My drive across country went well, but again I was eating fast food, and by the time I got to AZ I was feeling bloated, unwell, and exhausted.  John lives mainly on a whole foods diet with very little processed food, and me, I had been the queen of convenience.  If I could nuke it, I ate it, and I'm a certifiable chocoholic, sometimes in the throws of my addiction eating half a 56 oz. bag of peanut M&M's without taking any prisoners. Since my mother, grandmother, and great grandmother were all type 2 diabetics I was very concerned that this would be my fate as well I was headed down that path, though I had yet to have any blood tests bear this fear out my diet dictated that I either change or run a very high risk of carrying on the family tradition in the worst possible way.  So as we started settling into our life together I began to work out, and John began taking walks with me in the evening.  As always when I jump into something I tend to jump in with both feet.  About a week into my exercise program I pulled my rhomboid muscle.  At first it seemed very minor, a little tender, but that night I woke up screaming in pain from the spasms that ensued.  To make matters worse, a chronic "pinched" nerve at C5 was inflamed due to the injury and so the pain was radiating from my hand to my shoulder.  My boyfriend, who works as an Emergency room physician when not acting in his capacity for the USAFR, was in the middle of a twenty four hour shift so calling him would only cause worry.  I got up, and did all that I could do.  Ice to the area, and ibuprofen which did little to relieve my pain.  It was the worst pain I had ever felt in my life.  Finally 7AM came, and I called John, leaving him a message with regard to what was happening since he would soon be on his way home.  He called about 830AM, having had a difficult night at work, and when I told him what was happening he called in a prescription for a muscle relaxer.  By this time I had been in spasm over 8 hours, it would last for 4 days before oral and intramuscular steroids took effect to reduce the inflammation.  I could do little in that time, but lie flat on my back on the floor.  It was the most comfortable position I could find, and every movement was an agony to that arm.  To walk across the room meant holding my right wrist with my left hand to prevent any jolts which would cause pain.  I couldn't sleep because any accidental movement during the night again would cause pain.  The steroids helped the pain, but I put on 14 pounds in the first five days even though I had no appetite and barely ate.  After receiving several shots (12 altogether over a period of 3 days) in the muscle of marcane (a long acting local anesthetic type drug) and kenalog, taking muscle relaxers, a lot of ibuprofen and naproxen, flector patches, and oral prednisone (solumedrol would have been the drug of choice, but I'm allergic) I began to heal.  I think part of me was still afraid to move my arm any more than I had to.  Obviously, and being a subacute rehab nurse  I should have seen this coming, it was stiff and painful to move now not only relative to the injury, but from inactivity as well.  Gentle stretches made me want to scream out.  I had difficulty picking things up, and a week ago typing this bio would have been out of the question.  I began doing small things as I felt I  could, but every little jolt of pain was a setback.  I was really losing heart.  John, my biggest cheerleader and source of support throughout, encouraged me to do what I needed to do, but not to lose sight of my dreams.  My weight was now around 160, which dropped to my current 155 a few days ago when the steroids were finally ended (tons of water weight.  I felt like the world's largest water balloon).  Then last week, Friday, I woke up.  I realized that I could take control, and began looking things up, becoming more enduring with my stretching.  I left John a long message and later that evening when he had a break (He was at the hospital again) we talked about it.  During the night he sent me a text with the news that he had a happy surprize for me in the morning, and he came home with Taddy, a 7 month old Anatolian Shepherd.  Now I had to move, she had to be bathed, walked, groomed even from the first day as she was a failed working dog (they caught her playing with the coyotes, literally, instead of chasing them off.  She was too friendly).  So I made myself get dressed and got out of the house for the first time to go to Petco shopping for the dog.  My shoulder still hurt, but I found as I did more with it it really wasn't as bad as when I had been keeping it stationary.  That night I took Taddy for a walk.  She's very intelligent, and she knew partially how to heel and pace the person she was walking with.  She can walk with me in the early morning and the evening for an hour now which is good for both of us, and she's already become accustomed to walking beside me at a good pace for an hour, or so then ready to play a bit when we get home.  I'm spending more time doing yoga, and just stretching on my ball and ab lounge.  I'm still healing, and sometimes the pain still feels as though someone is trying to tear my arm off (a lot of this has to do with the "pinched" nerve, the muscle spasms have become much less frequent).  John says I'll be healing for a week or two yet in his estimation, but I'm on the mend.  Now I'm ready to get back to it for the last time.  I haven't been able to get back to any more strenuous workouts yet, and I am not going to be able to run for a bit yet, but I'm going to do what I can and do this right this time for the last time.