This column first ran in October 2011. As Joe Rusin prepares to run his first marathon this weekend, we meditate on his former form in this Fierce Encore! A few weeks ago, some generous soul saw fit to bring in a box of extremely delicious buttermilk donuts to be shared by everyone who works in my office. Extremely delicious translates to heart clogging, gut expanding, sleep-inducing goodness. Some office mates sensibly took only small portions, cutting the donuts into pieces for a nibble. Being capable of great gluttony, I of course took the whole thing. As I was taking it, I made a comment to someone about how you could tell by looking at me that I enjoy my sweets. In response I got an incredulous and slightly annoyed expression as my coworker commented, “What are you talking about—you look svelte.” Here’s the thing. She wasn’t just being kind. I actually am fairly trim right now. I’m not skinny by any sense of the word, and I still have a roundish quality, but even according to the body mass index I am at worst just over the edge of “overweight” and actually usually fall into the category of “normal” (and keep in mind, those BMI calculators are cruel—if you’re trying to lose weight and you want a disappointing shot in the gut, check one out to see how far you’ve got to go. It always seems a little unreasonable.). This is not a column to brag about weight loss, though (even if I did find a way to work it in). What I find interesting is that when I made what I thought was a self-deprecating comment about my size, I completely believed it. I wasn’t looking for a compliment—I had forgotten that when...