You know the funniest thing about making that silly weight goal? When it happened, when I first realized that the scale didn't have a sense of humor and was really saying what I thought it said, it didn't even matter.It had just been that crappy of a day.

All those years. Yikes. All those years of wondering what it would be like to step on the scale and finally see the magic number, imagining the quiet light of joy in my heart, the feeling of accomplishment and peace when I realized I'd done it -- well, it didn't quite happen that way. Instead, I stood on the scale, looked at the numbers, crossed my arms over my chest and laughed. Of course it would happen on the day that I skipped my swim due to exhaustion, on the day I considered figuring out how one could actually, physically, drag oneself to the gym, because I was too tired for anything other than ersatz enthusiasm.

I told the lady at the front desk that I'd finally made my goal - the gym employees see me almost every day of the week, and have known for some time that I was really, really close to a big goal - and asked if I could leave my pack and iPod on the front desk while I walked outside to make a couple of phone calls.

I called a few friends to tell them what had happened, managing to lose count of how many times I said "This was about the only thing that could have salvaged this crappy day," and then went back inside to start my workout.

Five seconds later I truly realized the meaning of the word "anticlimactic."

Ever since starting workouts in January, the first part of the cardio ritual was to hop onto the elliptical machine and punch in my weight. Every day, that number started with '2,' and I would allow myself a moment - but just that, a moment - to look at the '1' and wonder what it would be like to finally be able to punch in a weight that started with that number.

Except that today was the day, and I didn't even realize it until I'd keyed in the number and started exercising. Moment gone, moment over, and hey, wasn't I just on this machine yesterday? Damn.

I made myself look forward, towards the mirror. Not with the staring-blankly look, but with a gaze direct. That was me, in the mirror, partially hidden behind the tall guy with grey shirt and killer calves who outruns me every day, but whom I've never spoken to. That was me, the strawberry blond with the bandana-wrapped hair and full-blast iPod, with the weight number that started with a one and the sudden sinking realization that this was as much an end as it was a beginning.

What now, I wonder?