Reflections Of A Slightly Fitter Frumpy Woman

One day a week or two ago, I had a flashback with a pang of true loss. It was similar to the moments when I miss a loved one, or remember a time when things were all going well, on a day that is not going well.

This time, that little jolt of sadness came with the mental picture of a trail I had walked many times. And when I realized that I was mourning a favorite trail, I reordered my priorities.

Nothing me off of that trail. Nothing except being busy out of my mind.

So I looked at my to-do list, at all those items shouting at me.  I told them to hush. The next morning, I hit that trail before the day’s heat could set in.

It didn’t change the list of things that needed doing. It just made me believe I could tackle them.

I thought a lot about the lessons of my past year and a half: especially the day I decided I would seriously change up how I ate and how much I moved. The time had come, I knew. After a rough year, I believed I had the mental strength and space to pay attention to my health.

The decision made, I started trail-walking several times a week. It was winter. If it was snowy, I attached spikes to my shoes and kept going. We ate better at home. By the time summer rolled around, I was enjoying a fitness level I hadn’t known was possible at my age. I wasn’t magically younger, but dang! I could bike to the next town over and come back energized, my muscles humming with joy. What’s interesting is that I wasn’t doing anything new, particularly. I was just doing it more often, and that meant I could do it for longer and farther.

Biking is more than exercise. It gives me the chance to smell the air after a rain, or watch the fields turn gold.

That summer was stressful, as it turned out. My journal entries from those months were half about managing some upheaval in our lives, half celebrating my last bike ride.

I can’t tell you how grateful I am that in addition to all that stress, I found some heart-pounding happiness.

My friends know I am not an athlete. I do have some thoughts for other people who wonder if it’s too late to get out on the trail or the bike path or whatever it is you love to do. This isn’t really advice, it’s just what works for me.

I started with shorter walking sessions and bike rides, but I aimed for three times a week at the very least. I know a lot of people benefit from having an exercise partner, but for me it was easier to go it alone; I didn’t have to fit my goals to someone else’s schedule or fitness level. (That said, it’s a real pleasure to hike with a friend or family member. It just doesn’t happen every day.)

When I decided I wanted to try a longer ride with more uphill stretches, I told myself the important thing was getting there. I didn’t try to set a speed record, and I didn’t cuss myself if I had to walk the bike up a hill. I gave myself permission to go out in the world without makeup, wearing the red face I always get when I exercise (thank you, Scandinavian heritage)! I wasn’t biking for anybody I passed along the way. I was doing this for me.

Another bit of grace I’ve given myself: Permission to enjoy the wins, even if I still look like me. I can tell the difference in how my clothes fit, in how I feel. I hope to continue improving, but I won’t diminish the progress I’ve made over wishing I was a super model.

And that is enough to keep me going.