“Your sister is in the hospital,” the principal told me, a look of concern on her face.

I remember the day clearly, even now. I was sixteen years old and a sophomore in high school when I got pulled out of class because of my older sister, who was then 27 weeks pregnant with twin boys.

“The babies have to come out. And the doctor isn’t sure if they’ll live.”

Rushing to the hospital, the rest is a blur. Just a few minutes before, my mind had been on Spanish class and the latest teenage boy I had a crush on.

Suddenly, everything had changed: all I cared about was whether my sister, and her not-yet-born baby boys, would survive.

I remember the looks on my sister and brother-in-law’s faces over those next few days. Pure white with more than a hint of ghost. It was not an easy time for our family.

Seven weeks too early, the boys were born, weighing just over two pounds each. But that didn’t relieve anyone’s fears. They were hooked up to a ventilator for what seemed like weeks because their tiny, premie lungs didn’t have the capacity to breathe like normal babies did.

Still, the doctors didn’t know if they were going to make it.

That next year was tough for all of us. I was too scared to hold the boys (soon named Wyatt and Braxton) for fear I’d break them. And since they could have stopped breathing at any moment, they couldn’t be left alone in a room by themselves—even for a moment, for fear they wouldn’t be alive when you returned.

But they kept on fighting for their lives. And eventually, the boys convinced everyone that they were here in this world to stay.

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Let’s face it: life just doesn’t always go as planned.

No matter how hard you may try and control it, something always gets in the way.

And what’s the first thing that gets put on the back burner when something unexpected happens and turns your life upside down?

Your workouts.

You’re too tired, too busy, too stressed. So you stop exercising regularly, start eating like crap, and let all your hard work disappear.

I should know. I’ve been there.

And it’s completely understandable. But you can’t let it happen.

When moving gets in the way

Over the past four years, I’ve moved a total of 8 times. Three of those moves included going thousands of miles (from Portland to Amsterdam, Amsterdam to New York, New York to San Francisco), and four were into temporary housing—which, if you’ve never experienced it, is very unsettling.

And now, my husband and I are thinking of moving again(!)—but this time, we’re trying to buy a house in San Francisco (not an easy feat).

The one thing all these moves have had in common? They have all been very, very, distracting. And they would have all been perfectly good excuses to temporarily abandon my workout routine.

But I didn’t let that happen.

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When I was a kid, I never had to worry about my weight.

I could eat all the food I ever wanted, yet despite my rampant sweet tooth, there was never an extra ounce of fat on my skinny, Gumby-like body.

This is true for the majority of kids (or it used to be… childhood obesity rates are at frightenly high levels these days).

Until they reach puberty—or for some kids, college—the word ‘fat’ doesn’t even enter their vocabulary. They can eat as much pizza and ice cream as their hearts desire, and they’ll suffer no noticeable repercussions.

So why is this true? Why don’t kids have to watch their weight, despite their carbohydrate and sugar-filled diets?

Sure, a big factor is their high metabolisms and growing bodies—many of which require so many calories, their appetites can barely keep up.

But the biggest factor in keeping kids slim? Play.