Forget what Charles Dickens said … “It was the best of times…it was the worst of times.” The winter of 2002 was just plain the WORST OF TIMES. I was fresh off a broken romance. It was the coldest winter the East Coast had seen for years. The country was on the brink of war, and I was on my couch, miserable, wallowing in total self-pity. There was no measure to the depth of my dejection. Most of my bleak days began and ended with tears. I read travel magazines, longing to go somewhere warm, but knew that my body was nowhere near bathing-suit ready. I made half-hearted attempts to get motivated to do something to improve this by trying various new weight loss strategies, but I fell terribly short of implementing anything long enough to see even the weakest result.