24 hours later...

Yesterday I posted a public commitment to start, increase or decrease some specific behaviours, and to report back daily on this platform. So far, so good!

Today I thought I'd reflect a bit on how I came to be here.

I've never been a health or fitness freak, but like most women I've waxed and waned depending on my circumstances, and with not too much effort (a three-month exercise fad here, a really stupid crash diet there) I managed to keep myself in acceptable-to-me physical condition for most of my life.

As late as my late thirties I was (forgive me) looking at middle-aged women and wondering how they'd "let themselves get that way". In fact, it seemed to me that more than letting it happen, these women must have put in actual effort to gain so much weight and lose so much muscle tone.

Of course, I know better now, and I find my body wants have changed. I still want very much to like how I look, and have a body I find fun to dress. I no longer crave to be "hot" like I did until my mid-thirties, and maybe that's a sign of an increased appreciation of the full scope of my femininity, a more internalised sense of my own worth, and being in a relationship where I'm valued for so much more than my body. Whatever the case, that part feels like a gain rather than a loss.

But man do I want to be healthy!

I crave it. More than ever I'm aware of the mechanics of my body as a skeletal system that works best when encased by muscle. I remember how it felt to move when that whole system was functioning better. I remember how the urge to move translated into movement rather than a slumpy sense of "Nahhhhh...." and the fun, energy and efficiency of it all.

Over winter here in the southern hemisphere I spent time ostensibly coming to terms with the fact that I'm forty, that I'm mortal, that my body is on a path to degradation. I put a lot of energy into researching why I was feeling so blah, and alternating between outrage and resignation. Come springtime, I was pretty darn depressed.

And then, a turning point.

Boyfriend and I were in the ute on a trip somewhere. I was bemoaning for the umpteenth time the loss of muscle and gain of weight that happens after forty, when Boyfriend, unable to contain himself any longer, burst out, "That's not what 'happens' when you're forty. It's what happens when you're forty and you don't deliberately create something else."

Well, yes! A truth so obvious I couldn't believe I'd missed it, or that hearing it said aloud would change my whole perception.

Well, it didn't. Not straight away. I'd invested so much in the inevitability of it all, in finding evidence for the wisdom of just giving up, that it took me some days to build up a more empowered state.

My googling beaviour went something like this: "Can you really gain muscle mass over 40?" "If you're a woman?" "Really?" "Even if you've never really been lean and toned before?" "Ever in your life?"

And actually I haven't found the guarantees I was after. But I have remembered the wisdom of my mum, who says the trick is to ask yourself high quality questions. For example, not "Why am I feeling so blech?" but "What can I do right now that might make me feel stronger?"

I researched broad and deep, argued back and forth between hope and hopelessness, and eventually got so bored with the conversation in my head that I decided to no-brain it, pick a couple of likely-seeming steps, and just do them - without wondering any further whether they're the best possible option, or even likely to work. So long as they're not bad for me, where's the harm, right?

And after my first little run-in with the Couch to 5K app yesterday, I'm pleased to report it was easy (ish), energising and hope-inducing. I feel a little bouncier today, a little less sluggish, and I'm almost looking forward to my next foray tomorrow...

Keeping track

I seem to be in a "Paying the piper" phase right now.

I do not like it.

I like "Do whatever you want, it feels good, you're not hurting anybody, no problem, wheeeeeee!!!" phases. These are fun. They do feel good. And they're cooler, somehow. Or so my mind has it.

Being responsible is naff. It's boring, restrictive and point-missing. So says the childlike rebel inside of me. I sometimes feel I could have a little pouty cry over something I "have to" do - like get out of bed, or hang out the laundry, or go for a run. I can literally lose four hours by refusing to get up and do a "have to". So instead of 30 minutes of running (and the attendant benefits) followed by 3.5 hours of whatever I feel like, I get 4 hours of limbo (and the attendant costs) followed by several hours of guilt, not to mention opportunity loss.

(Is this just me?)

But - here beginneth a new day. On the basis that the first step to beating a problem is admitting you have one, I hereby come clean about the above. Like everyone, I'm a composite of many things, mostly things I like a lot and many things I love, appreciate, accept or tolerate. I'm now aiming to bring to light this aspect of myself that I've judged, rejected and hidden in an attempt to deny it into non-existence. That hasn't worked too well, so, behold: I'm trying something new.

Hello pouty child! I see you! Yep, yep, no need to hide - I'm onto you and I've shared you on the web.

It's fine for you to be. I'm going to look out for you, OK? I'm going to give you space and let you be, be kind to you and even try to get you to cheer up and laugh at yourself sometimes - even if you're half-hating me through the giggles. I get you'd rather play and have year-round summers on the beach, with pre-teen energy and fitness levels you've done nothing to earn, and the carefree open-heartedness that only ignorance can bring.

I'm almost certain those light-hearted moments will come again. Likely not year-round, but probably a lot more often if you're in charge less of the time. It's not so easy to be carefree when we're less and less fit, hassling to pay off debt we gathered in a "carefree" phase, or just generally lying about begrudging (instead of ticking off) our responsibilities.

I totally get that it can be scary, but luckily you're not the only one here. There's responsible me, strong me, creative me, grown-up me, even brave me - let them run the show sometimes and let's see how we go, OK?

Now pouty child, close your eyes, put your fingers in your ears and go "LA-LA-LA-LA-LAAA!!!" while I make a public 12-week commitment.

For the next 12 weeks I will follow the CouchTo5K app wherever it leads. I will keep on with my "more greens, fewer grains, less sugar, caffeine and alcohol" goals. I will pay off at least $2,100 on my credit card and I will incur no further debt. I will report back daily via this blog.

And I will respect the pouty child as much as any other part of me (she's just as worthy) and see whether the joyful child is more inclined to show up, more often, as a result.