“I Never Thought I’d Be This Fit”: The Story of One Late-Blooming, Competitive Bad-Ass

Here's a sampling of words I didn't believe I would ever be associated with: Training. Half-ironman finisher. Endurance. Athlete. See, my childhood sports were as intense as reading Nancy Drew books (I’d have medaled) and making Mod Podge flowers and macramé purses in the basement with Mom and my sister. When well-meaning trainers or life coaches ask you to think back on movement you loved doing as a child (“and how much fun you had running around!”), my mind flickers to crying at the bottom of a hill on family bike rides and the classic picked-last-in-gym-class humiliation. (People who wonder why Americans hate exercise never had to take the President’s Physical Fitness test. Or never had my gym teachers.)

So now, my almost-daily stint in Spandex not only surprises me, but also everyone who knew me before I hit 40. Sure, I’d dabbled in exercise in an effort to be more comfortable in and take weight off the sturdy 5’7” frame that towered over my mostly 5’2” girly high school classmates. I followed along in modern dance, tap, step aerobics, kickboxing, Pilates, and whatever else promised you’d “tone up and trim down!”