I think I already established that upon my return from Belgium, I discovered I had put on at least five pounds. I could tell not only from the scales, but also from the snugness of my clothes. It was no surprise, however. I ate everything that was placed in front of me, 40 percent of which was deep fat fried. I came home with some resolve to rid myself of this excess baggage, and with the change of seasons, I figured that taking up jogging again would help.

So I began to jog each morning, steadily increasing my mileage and lowering my time. I was surprised and pleased at how I was able to get back to it after months of winter lethargy. At the same time, I changed my eating patterns, returning to my modified South Beach Diet/totally American mode of eating, with whole grains, vegetables, some healthy protein, and so on.

The strange thing was, even with all of these changes, I was actually gaining weight, not losing it. "Muscle weighs more than fat," a friend reassured me, but I was gaining considrable weight; muscle can't way that much more than fat. It was disturbing and depressing. This trend continued, even though I could tell some of my clothes were fitting more comfortably.

Finally, yesterday I started thinking about the scales. Even though I'm quite groggy in the mornings, I had taken note that someone had shifted some of the little markers around the edge that can be slid around to point at my goal weight. Normally I wouldn't have noticed, but I had actually used two of them.

Then it occurred to me that the same little fingers that slid around those pointers may have discovered the adjustment around the edge--the adjustment that can make the scales a little heavier or lighter. Hmmmm....

I had my husband stand on the scales. "These are way off," he concurred. He adjusted it to match his weight, then I stood on the scales myself.

I had "lost" almost ten pounds! The only other time I've experienced such dramatic weight loss was when I gave birth to nine-pound babies!