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...
No comments:
Post a Comment