Is it Your Body Telling You to Stop or Your Negative Nelly Piping In?

Once upon a time, I had the metabolism of a hummingbird

I used to be a skinny woman. I was blessed (or so I thought) with the metabolic rate of a hummingbird (which, by the way, has the highest metabolism of any animal on earth). Back in my 20s and 30s I could eat an entire pizza and not gain an ounce. Huge plates of nachos falling over with chicken, cheese, pica del gallo and sour cream. Ice cream carton binges was a favorite pastime. That was, until I grew up. And by “grew up” I mean my body came to her senses and, seemingly overnight, decided she was going to teach me a lesson.

When I was 39 years and 364 days old, I didn’t worry about what I ate. I ate, I worked out, my weight stayed the same. I was a happy woman. When I turned 40, I couldn’t even look at a cookie without gaining weight.

When women hit midlife, it seems as if our bodies betray us in the worst way. To ty and rectify it, we turn to get-skinny-quick schemes. And for a while, they may work. But once we stop eating only grapes or put down those liquid shakes and put real food in our mouths, everything changes. Sometimes we lose weight, only to gain it all back and then some.

Now that ticks me off.

Today, life is far different for me than it was a year ago. In addition to gaining pandemic pounds, I’ve been diagnosed with MS. That changes the way I move about life, the way I take up space in the world, the way my body evolves.

Do I Really Want to do This?

Ask me if I really and truly want to be spending an hour or two straining, grunting, and sweating like a WWE wrestler and I’ll give you an emphatic “No!” in at least 12 different languages. However, this body isn’t gonna change by itself.

Well, wait . . . I take that back. It will change by itself – from firm to flab, from slim to plump, from healthy to unhealthy – and it’ll do so all without my intervention or me lifting a finger. Because that’s what bodies do as we get older: they age.

I used to try to turn back the hands of time, at least in my head. I’d say to myself, “I’ll be so glad when I can get back to how thin and shapely I was when I was 30.” Well, between me and you, I was damn near anorexic in my early 30s. I went on this super amped-up exercise regimen because I wanted to lose weight, and I did lose weight. The problem was, though, 127 pounds didn’t look attractive on my 5’8” frame. I looked sick. And others noticed. I recall my manager at the time calling me into his office to tell me that there were whispers that I had AIDS. It was devastating.

These days I’m more sensible about my body. My younger days are behind me, but that doesn’t mean a healthy body is out of reach.

Why I Choose to Work Out (Even When I Don’t Want To)

I used to enjoy working out. No, seriously…I really did. Today, meh…not so much. But you know what? I do it anyway. Why? Well…

I do it because I have to.
I do it to stay healthy.
I do it so I can sleep at night.
I do it because it helps with weight control.
I do it so I can make my body stronger.
I do it because I want to strengthen my bones.
I do it because to not do it would mean I get to watch m body turn to mush.
I do it because I’m afraid of what will happen to my MS body if I don’t do it.

Are those enough reasons for you?

I’ll never be an Olympic-level athlete, but that doesn’t stop me from dragging out my purple mat, getting down on the floor and doing glute bridges, planks, bicycle crunches, alternating heel touches, scissor kicks or press ups. It doesn’t prevent me from walking for miles on end, bending my body into faux-yoga poses, riding my stationary bike, or lifting a kettle ball or hand weight for strength training. And although I hate them with a passion, it doesn’t stop me from doing squats, shoulder press or high knees.

There are times when my arms and legs are burning so much, I could swear I’m in an alternative universe and I’m being tortured on a barbecue grill. I wanna give up. Oh goodness, how I wanna give up. But I don’t. Well, most days I don’t.

There are days when my body just isn’t working the way I want it to. MS fatigue is an exercise-killer. That all-over tiredness just lets the air out of my exercise mojo, and I fizzle away to the absence of being – that dreaded do-nothing zone where my body needs to recharge on its own time.

But that’s my body…I mean really my body…taking control. I couldn’t work out the even if I wanted to. And then there are those times when that voice in my head says, “You’ve done enough scissor kicks,” when I’ve only done two, “you can call it a day.”

On those days, I’m tempted to give in to the temptation. The anti-workout siren sings her song, lulling me into a dark place in the Land of the Couch Potatoes. But then I think about my body. I think about what I’m trying to accomplish. I think about the squishy parts that, with repetition and perseverance, will firm up nicely. I think about fighting against my own body – the MS that is slowly destroying my nerves. I want to do what I can while I still can.

So, I tune out Negative Nelly, that pesky voice in my head telling me to give up and go eat a pint of ice cream.

I’m doing this for myself. When my legs feel like noodles . . . when one more pushup is out of the question, when my body says, “Enough Valerie,” that’s when I’ll listen.