The diary of almost everything

Somewhere over the past year, my body seems to have developed an opinion.

Because in my head I’m still somewhere around twenty-five, maybe twenty-eight on days when I remember to pay my bills on time, and I still seem perfectly capable of deciding that this is the ideal year to start strength training, Pilates and, after almost twenty years, tennis again.

My body, however, appears to have joined a different committee.

Most mornings, when I swing my legs out of bed, the first thing I notice is that the bottoms of my feet need a few seconds to remember how walking works. Every now and then my knees politely announce their presence as well, and for about ten seconds I wonder whether I’ve suddenly become eighty-four overnight. Then I walk to the bathroom, everything loosens up, the feeling disappears completely and I spend the rest of the day feeling absolutely fine, as if my body simply wanted to remind me that it still has the password to the complaint department.

Naturally, I blamed the gym.

That seemed like the most logical explanation. My physiotherapist agreed that strength training can put quite a bit of pressure on your feet and knees, especially with the exercises I’m doing, and that my shoes or insoles might simply not be ideal anymore. It was exactly the kind of answer I like, because I enjoy having something practical to blame. Unfortunately, halfway through that conversation I also remembered having exactly the same thoughts last year, before I’d lifted a single weight, which rather ruined my investigation.

I also briefly considered blaming tennis, until I realised I haven’t actually hit a tennis ball yet.

It turns out it’s surprisingly difficult to accuse a sport you’ve only mentally restarted.

The funny part is that, despite these tiny morning negotiations with my joints, I honestly feel fitter than I have in years. I sleep better, I feel stronger, I genuinely enjoy going to the gym, Pilates has become part of my routine, and every now and then I catch a glimpse in the mirror and notice that all those hours of hip thrusts, Romanian deadlifts and persuading my glutes to cooperate are actually paying off.

The changes are small, but they’re there. I recover faster, I have more energy during the day, I genuinely enjoy moving my body again and I can finally see little signs that all those workouts aren’t just making me sweaty, they’re actually making a difference.

The only muscle group still refusing to receive my full attention is my stomach. Every time I finish a workout I tell myself I’ll add a few core exercises next week, and somehow next week keeps showing remarkable flexibility. I’m fairly convinced tennis will solve at least half of that problem anyway, which may not be scientifically proven but is currently the theory I’m choosing to believe.

Another unexpected discovery is that I have become someone with opinions about mattress toppers. Real opinions. The kind that would have bored twenty-five-year-old me to tears. When I bought my bed years ago, the first topper was so uncomfortable that my back staged a full-scale protest within forty-eight hours, so I marched back to IKEA convinced the solution was simply another topper. Unfortunately, they had stopped making the one I wanted, because IKEA apparently believes that perfectly good products should eventually disappear forever while the Billy bookcase survives every generation known to mankind.

The replacement was… acceptable. Not terrible, but never quite right. Then somebody suggested putting a pillow between my knees when I sleep on my side, or underneath my knees when I sleep on my back, and I honestly can’t believe I’m saying this, but it worked ridiculously well. I sleep better, I wake up feeling more comfortable and my joints complain a lot less. I’m still fairly convinced a better mattress topper is somewhere in my future, but for now the pillow has bought itself a permanent contract.

The funny thing is that none of this actually makes me feel older.
If anything, I feel fitter than I did a few years ago. I’m starting tennis again after almost twenty years, I actually enjoy going to the gym, Pilates has somehow become part of my weekly routine instead of something I constantly postpone, and on weekends with thirty degrees you’ll usually find me on the beach with a coffee in one hand and a protein-packed sandwich in the other, wondering whether I should finally order that mattress topper when I get home.

So perhaps nothing has really changed at all.

I’m still signing up for new hobbies, still making ambitious plans, still convinced I can do absolutely everything, and still refusing to admit that carrying a heavy beach bag across the dunes is a terrible idea.

The only real difference is that nowadays I stretch my feet for ten seconds before walking to the bathroom… and apparently that’s enough to qualify as wisdom.

-Sophie Quinn