I stopped exercising…

My body is changing. 

I am aging. I had my first hot flash the other day. I was dressed in my puffy jacket indoors as per usual because I am always cold, then suddenly I was lying on the floor,  frantically tearing off my clothing with sweat beading on my forehead. That first hot flash has morphed into night sweats. I wake up drenched, I have trouble falling back asleep. This feels tough, sleep is my medicine and it’s not all that pretty the next day. 

Watching my body change is pushing me into ever deeper layers of letting go. I’m undoing ideas of what my body is supposed to be able to do, and who I am in the process. I used to hold onto an identity, and if I am honest, a part of me still does. "Strong skier" shows up when I catch myself imagining the ski traverses I haven’t yet done, and what it would take to pull one of those trips off. 

Six years after birthing a baby, withstanding the subtle internal pressure to “get back” to something, there is an unwinding happening. I hold tenderness for the younger, pregnant me, and the ideas I had about what I would still do after this pregnant shindig was over, about what it would take to still be "me.” There are so many damn layers of identity to shed in becoming a parent, and that’s for another time, but the shedding related to my body is big. Peri menopause, the sleeplessness and sudden, aggressive sweating is helping me ever deeper into what is “now me."

And here’s the thing: “now me” fully stopped exercising at least a year ago.

I’ve fought with myself over this. I know I should exercise. Based on my genes, I’m staring into the jaws of osteoporosis.

But as I get older, and get more attuned to the ways I’ve battled with my body and myself,  “now me” is interested in a different kind of relationship. Instead of fretting about the fact that I don't exercise, can't seem to make it happen, get stuck, I want to stop seeing my body as a project that needs to be fixed or maintained. Instead of using my body as a proving ground about who I am and am not, can I tune into the way of moving that feels right? What does care and reverence for my body feel like? Is it to nap? To go outside and lie on the earth? Is it to roll around on my yoga mat? Sit on the couch and rest? 

I’m blessed with the gift of grit. I can (or at least could) grind through a lot of uncomfortable, hard things. My “strong” body has gotten me to amazing and wild places. I came of age in a culture of hippies, yogis and outdoor athletes. Part of that culture taught me that my body was something to be tuned, tweaked, and optimized. By eating the perfect food, juice fasting, and getting into ever deeper yoga poses, I would lock in the key to vitality. I’d be stronger in the mountains and underneath that, I would be a better, more virtuous person. I did the juice fasts and the yoga poses. Sometimes I felt vital, but not always. And this way of being undid something in me, setting the stage for an extractive relationship with my body. If I tweaked, coerced, did the “right” exercise, I would “get” something back. 

I’m actually feeling pretty great not exercising. After living with chronic back pain for 20 years I’m pain free this last year. I know I should go outside more, walk more, set myself up for “healthy” aging. But that’s not what is happening. Instead of battling with myself, I am turning to softness. Can softness in my belly get me closer to softness in my heart? What feels nourishing instead of extractive, punishing or conditional? Can I be proud of myself for attuning for what feels good, instead of bemoaning myself for not exercising?

That there is shame wrapped up in sharing that I don’t exercise lets me know I’m not ready to go back to sweating at the gym. Maybe when the bone scans tell me I have to go back, I will.  If I do, I’ll probably feel virtuous, and I hope I don’t judge myself when I stop going again. I want to do this dance without self-extraction and self-judgement, I want more freedom than that.

Being in a gentler, less coercive relationship with our bodies is so specific. We each carry different blueprints of inherited values, culture, trauma, joy in our cells.  Me sharing about my relationship with my body feels slightly dangerous. This capitalist culture is so quick to tell us to outsource, look to others to consume ideas about how to move/eat/be more embodied. Yuck.  

I’m sharing about my body because it feels like an edge for me. Going into raw space and playing around without getting too caught up in how others receive it is something I am working with. What I am learning, and have been learning forever, but keep needing to re-learn, is that my body serves as the most direct way of knowing my connection to the larger whole. Laying my body down on the earth lets me remember how small I am. (Thank you dry, spring ground!)  My mental buzzing slows down a little when I notice I am taking in oxygenated air from the trees around me. When my skin flakes off into the earth, I realize I too am composting, breaking down and eventually dying. I get to remember that I am nature. I think opening to this awareness is the most true way for me to care for my body right now. 

In this moment, it feels reverent to hold this collection of cells as something that connects me to the divine. It’s enough to feel sun on my face and revel in what feels delightful and non-extractive. I'll probably hear from “strong skier” again soon and think about a training plan that would get me “back.” I'm hoping I can stay gentle and soft for longer. I hope I don't coerce myself back to the gym to extract something out of this precious body. 

May we all feel the way we want to feel in our bodies, without the noise of culture, moral and extractive pressures. May we all feel the wisdom held in our cells and our bones. May we all listen for what our bodies need, and have the permission to explore that.

With love,
Liz