Moving More

For most of my young life, the word exercise made me break out into hives and a nervous twitch. It started when my Pop-Pop decided it would be a brilliant idea to enroll an overweight kids in YMCA gymnastics. During the first class we did basic tumbling, forward and backward rolls. Needless to say, I had so many rolls that I couldn’t roll myself backwards. I was like a weeble-wobble, remember those? After a tearful ride home, my gymnastics career came to an abrupt end. Shortly thereafter, we (and by “we” I mean “me” while Pop-Pop read the funny pages) joined YMCA karate. I’m sure you can guess how long that lasted. As long as it took me to try and stuff myself into the uniform and tie the belt.

Let us move on to elementary school and the gosh-darned Presidential Fitness tests.  Talk about humiliating. From never being able to run the full mile and always the last one to finish walking, to being unable to lift myself up to do the sit-ups. Or even better when the gym teacher threw me some mercy and let me do my pull-ups while standing on a chair. I’m sure glad I didn’t call attention to myself, good times…good times.  

The only thing more humiliating than the Presidential Fitness tests was the fact that by the time I started middle school I was too chunky for the required school uniform. They only went up to a size large which I barely squeezed into. I’ll never forget how it felt to be one of the biggest girls in the locker room, embarrassed to change in front of everyone, not to mention shower. More times than I can count I was “sick” during gym class. The nurse knew me on a first name basis.

In high school and my early college years, I dropped the weight. Not due to a new found love of exercise, but more thanks to some unhealthy eating habits.

After my first pregnancy which I thought was a license to eat, and some challenging personal times, the weight started to pile back on. I knew I needed to do something about it, so I joined the local YMCA. Yet my childhood fears took over. I felt like the biggest one in the room, like everyone was staring at me and I retreated back to the safety of my home and drowned my sorrows in a box of Entennman’s donuts.

I wish now, that I could have given that twenty-something girl the courage to keep on keepin’ on. To not give a lick what anybody thought. To hold her head high and take it one day at a time knowing that little by little she was taking back her health. To not be overwhelmed by the amount of weight she had to lose. To remember that she did not gain the weight overnight and that it would not magically disappear overnight.

I wish I could have helped her to see that exercise would someday be a cure for her many ailments- depression, anxiety, winter blues, the inability to sleep, exhaustion, anger, stress. To see that exercise was so much more than an activity that she “had to do” but would someday be an activity that she wanted to do, something that she looked forward to.

My husband and I call those the dark days or “the old Tara” and I can honestly say that “the old Tara” would have never predicted who the new Tara could be. “The old Tara”, she had no hope. She was mired with such a sense of trouble and loss, combined with zero self-esteem and direction.  Yet somewhere inside “the old Tara”, the new one was just waiting for the chance to make a change.

Today, exercise is an extremely integral part of my day, not because I have to exercise, because I want to. I NEED to. I’ve gone from the tired self-conscious girl in the gym, to a woman who enjoys being physically fit (not thin) fit.  To a woman that knows the difference and understands that being strong and well is far more important than being a size two.

When I first started exercising I got winded just walking to the first stop sign in my neighborhood. Today, in my forties, my goal is to exercise six days a week, with one day of rest.  I alternate cardio (Zumba, kickboxing, walking, elliptical) with strength training (kettle bell or free weights).

I have a simple goal on my cork board, to move my body more, and most days, I love it! Being able to move my body more is a gift I appreciate and do my best to treasure.

One of my co-workers has this saying- “start somewhere, go anywhere”.

Whether you’re ready to take that first step on your way to wellness; or you’re looking to crank up your fitness routine, the most daunting step can just be getting started.

What are you waiting for? It's time to move more! 

Make the choice. Commit to the choice. Ask for help. Continue with courage.

Hugs and friendship,

Tara