Stepping Up
(Or telling former skinny me to f&%* off)
I bought a stepper, rocker, exercise thing. Even writing that, I can hear how unimpressed I sound. Past versions of me would have absolutely rolled their eyes at what qualifies as a workout now.
But past versions of me are not living in this body.
And while I am fairly certain some earlier, fitter, smugger Amanda is judging me from afar, present-day me has learned to care a little less about her opinion.
A little.
Today, I stayed on that ridiculous-looking contraption for thirty-five minutes without stopping. I broke a sweat for a reason that had nothing to do with panic or illness. That alone feels worth marking.
I am deliberately not celebrating numbers. Calories do not get to narrate this story. Neither does comparison. Not anymore.
The real story is that the box sat unopened at my front door for weeks. I was excited when I ordered it. Then it arrived, and I did not want to touch it. I did not want to fail at it. I did not want to discover that my body was not ready, even if my mind thought it should be.
So I waited.
I told myself I was still shedding. According to the Chinese calendar, it is still the year of the snake. There is still time to let go of what no longer serves. I let that be true without turning it into a moral failure.
This morning, something shifted. Quietly. Without drama. I was ready.
I opened the box. I set it up. It was easier than I expected. The workout was harder than I expected. I finished it anyway.
That matters.
I broke a sweat, and I lived inside my body without fear for a while. I am taking that win without minimizing it, without apologizing for it, and without inflating it into something it is not.
I am done competing with the woman I used to be.
I am grateful for the woman I keep becoming. The one who waits. The one who listens. The one who moves when it is time, not when she is shamed into motion.
I am not in a hurry anymore.
I am still going forward. Slowly. Honestly. One step at a time, even if the step looks small from the outside.
I warned you, this is not very impressive. :)
This resonates so much. Since our first bout with COVID my lungs aren't what they used to be and I just realized this week that I've spent upwards of 3 months of each of the past 5 years with respiratory issues that leave me on the verge of blackout if I so much as try to slowly hobble up a hill (see, yesterday afternoon). The version of me that used to do spin classes and dance classes and weightlifting for 4-5 days/week is reeling. I may or may not get back there one day, but this current body will keep puffing on inhalers and hobbling up hills until I'm able to get back into resistance training. And I will get there even though it feels like starting from zero (it's not - muscle memory is real). And you will sweat lots more, too, because you want to and you can. ❤️ Big kudos to you for getting back in the saddle.