Crying contestants, tyrannical trainers, head-to-toe transformations—it's easy to get sucked into watching The Biggest Loser. Like millions of fans, I follow along, often while eating ice cream (embarrassing but true). To a lifelong yo-yo dieter like me, the show feels personal. Weight-wise, I have good years and bad. Two pregnancies and spine surgery didn't help. In a burst of health-consciousness a couple of years ago, I lost 40 pounds but regained 10 bit by bit (or, I guess, bite by bite). Exhausted by the constant motion required in a two-working-parent household, a long commute and kids' activities and homework, I found myself eating more and exercising less (bad combo). So when I was offered the chance to spend a week at the Biggest Loser Resort Niagara in upstate New York, I was intrigued. It seemed like the body equivalent of a "shock and awe" maneuver and a chance to reboot fitness-wise. The prospect of leaving for an entire week seemed daunting, especially given that I'd never been away for more than one night since my son was born. But my husband (bless him) said, "Go! You'll do great! We'll be fine." I ran it by my sister and closest girlfriends, expecting at least one of them to tell me I was insane. No dice. They all said, "Do it!" So with no one willing to give me a reason not to, I booked a nonrefundable flight. Here's how my days went.