Here’s what I could tell you; that I have a raging headache, that I threw my back out two days ago and have been working from bed, that I’m worried about my husband who has, what we think is, nerve damage, that I’m terrified about our money situation and wondering if it’s legal to sell your kidney, and that I can’t shake the memory of seeing our aunt the other day, at 96 years old and oh, so fragile, lying in her bed, knowing it was likely the last time I will see her on this earth.

Pretty much, I could tell you about lots of body parts, pain and dying. I’m also available for parties.

I could tell you that I’m sad there is a hole in my favorite pants, that it’s already too cold outside for my liking, or that I think I may have an addiction to peanut butter flavored cereal.

I might want to mention that I have one foot bigger than the other, my right leg is shorter than my left and that my house is never, ever clean. Ever.

Or, we can talk about how the worst thing I’ve ever attended was a monster truck rally, that I prefer white candles and silver jewelry, that I have the best readers anyone could ask for, or that there is nothing that feels quite as good as a hug (except maybe a margarita when it’s 75 degrees outside).

I could say that my kids amaze me EVERY SINGLE DAY, that my dad is funnier than your dad, and that my husband is the grumpiest, kind-hearted man you will ever meet. Oh, and that although I spend my day in yoga pants, despite never having done yoga, my favorite magazine is InStyle.

Or, I could just show you a picture of my son holding a giant mushroom.

Welcome to my brain.

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Dear Mr. Personal Trainer,

I’m coming in to see you today after six months of, mostly, sitting on my hind end. And, by mostly I mean completely. I understand that you want to know my history and goals, so here goes.

I maintained a normal weight until just after my 26th birthday. Then I got married, had a high-stress career, renovated a house, had a preemie baby and blamed every pound I gained on each of those things. I had no time and no energy.

Then I had another baby and he was um…kind of difficult…even if I had had the time and energy, I would have taken it and put it into making him better, stronger, healthier, smarter and more typical. It turns out that ten years and ten surgeries later I realize that I like him just the way he is, which is sickly, tiny and kind of quirky, but that’s a whole different letter.

How I got here is beside the point; it’s where I want to go that matters. Eight months ago my high cholesterol sent me into the waiting arms of a vegan diet. Now I have a relationship with beans that I never thought possible. Also, my cholesterol dropped 160 points in three months. Without meds. Me and beans? We kind of love each other.

I joined your gym in January and started working out with a trainer and spent hours there each week. But, then the trainer got moved to another position and I got whooping cough, then summer came and that’s my SUPER busy season at the job I love and am passionate about. I had a hard time peeling myself away from my computer screen. And, once again, as I have countless times over the last decade, I fell into a vicious cycle of excuses.

I want this bad. I want good health, a long life and I want to be strong again. I wouldn’t mind if you could throw in some quickness and good balance, but if you could just get me to a point where it’s not a nightmare to get dressed each day, that would be great.

I take Zoloft and Ambien (see aforementioned paragraphs mentioning kids) and I know the anti-anxiety meds aren’t conducive to weight loss, but they also help me sit and watch mindless TV like Wheel of Fortune without grinding my teeth and clenching every muscle in my body. If you asked me whether I wanted to go back to feeling like I was always on the verge of a panic attack or be fat, I would chose the fatness. So, we have to work around that.

I like beer. A lot. I like chocolate. A lot. I also like vegetables and feel strong enough about my health to become a vegan and stick to that completely. But, please don’t ask me to give up beer. Or chocolate. Or coffee.

I would love to run a half marathon someday, but only a half because I think a full marathon is crazy. Plus I have asthma, so I don’t even think full marathons are allowed. Just sayin’. Oh, and I’m 41. FORTY-ONE, which is to say that I feel very middle-aged and if I don’t turn this around FOR REAL this time, I won’t ever do it.

I still have a whole life to live and so many places I want to go and a zillion things I want to do, but I won’t do any of them happily unless I can fix myself and I don’t know how to do that. I want you to help me get to a point where I can stop hating myself.

So, there you go.

No pressure.

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Within hours of putting up my last post, I was in the hospital. You can’t make this stuff up, people.

It started with a dull ache on my lower right side and ended with sharp pain in the same spot that spread across my belly. I went to the ER thinking that I had an appendicitis or kidney stone and ended up being admitted so that I could prep for a colonoscopy. Yippee!

Everything you’ve ever heard about a colonscopy is true. The prep is the worst part, but what no one tells you is that IT’S NOT THAT BAD. I drink an entire bottle of Miralax powder mixed into frozen Gatorade and thanks to the Dilaudid I was on, I thought I was drinking a slushie.

Of course, that didn’t work because my bowels? They are stubborn. So at 4:00am I drank Golytely (pronounced, Go Lightly, because someone has a sick sense of humor) mixed with iced-down Shasta. At this point I had been up for 48 hours, was hopped up on pain meds and was very thirsty. Golytely went down (and out) without a problem. You’re welcome.

The colonscopy itself? Who cares! After Versed and Demorol you’ll look like this when they wheel you in.

What is that thing hanging from the ceiling? You’re going to put that in my innards? Okay!

Another thing no one tells you (and this could be because they’re too embarrassed, but I’ve already said, “innards” so I obviously have no shame) is that you will have intestines full of air when you are done. My step-mom told me I’d be gassy, but that term doesn’t really do it justice. I’ll just say that I’m glad I didn’t have a roommate, or visitors, and that my husband is, quite possibly, the most understanding man on the planet (who, for the record, canceled a THIRD trip out of town because of MY medical emergencies) (he wins for best husband).

All in all, the colonoscopy wasn’t the horrible experience people seem to think it is. I even got to hallucinate a little bit!

My pain was diagnosed as an inflammatory bowel flare-up. I don’t have Crohn’s, or cancer, or anything awful. The doctor said it was likely brought on by stress and told me to start meditating, and breathing, and stop clenching my teeth. I said, “Give me more Dilaudid and we’ll talk.”

So, I have a counter full of new medicines to take (for now) and I was cleared for travel to New York in a couple of days.

And now? Katie Couric and I totally have something to talk about.

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In the ninth grade, I was in a public speaking class made up of students from every grade in my high school. This meant that as a terrified freshman, I had to get up and talk in front of a room full of people, including seniors. It was awful.

It was also one of the best things that ever happened to me.

The public speaking teacher made us tape ourselves and going back through those tapes is like listening to a butterfly emerge from a cocoon; a cocoon that said, “Like” a lot. A whole lot.

I never had a problem when I taped myself singing Barbra Streisand’s “Memories” in our half bathroom as a 5 year old, but put me in front of an audience at 14 and there was no chance of me belting out a tune, because I could barely talk. My speeches and stories ended up a jumbled mess of nervousness that were half Cindy Brady on a quiz show and half Miss Teen USA, circa 2007. Such as.

But, blogging has changed something in me, and my job most certainly has. I “talk” to tens-of-thousands of people every day now and I’ve learned that if you are truly authentic, it’s not so scary. Though, I’m not going to lie, speaking in front of roughly 4,000 people last summer was enough to give me nervous poops. See? Authentic.

In a few weeks, I’ll be in NYC to speak at BlogHer’s annual conference again; first as a Pathfinder (a HUGE honor) and then as a moderator/panelist on how beginners can leverage Facebook and Twitter to increase traffic and engagement on your blog. Did you hear that? That was my mom saying, “You lost me at traffic.”

In the planning of the all-day Pathfinder workshop and the social media panel, I find that I’m not nervous in the least. Instead, I am excited; practically bursting at the seams to talk, share, listen and learn. I will be among the best and brightest bloggers in the world and I will stand before them as my authentic self. Well, unless I run into Katie Couric or Martha Stewart in the green room, in which case I’ll freak out and sweat a lot. Fair warning, ladies. Especially you, Katie.

It feels good to not worry about public speaking anymore and it feels great to know that I have the confidence to say so.

It’s, like, going to be totally great!

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