Walking Toward Myself: A Midlife Fitness Story
I was 50 and I remember looking at a photo of myself in a sleeveless dress and thinking I looked like a potato in a black sack. My arms hung limp from my shoulders—no definition, no strength, nothing like the days when I worked as a carpet installer. My stomach was a bowl of rippled pudge, perched above dough-boy legs covered in cottage cheese skin and cellulite. I was disgusted with myself—and my computer-chair diaper booty.
For nearly twenty years, I owned and operated a small custom carpet installation company with my late husband and partner. I worked hands-on in the field for the first eleven years, and I loved it. We moved through homes and businesses, met all kinds of people, and the work was physically demanding. My business kept my mind sharp and my body strong.
Then everything changed.
Our first-born son—our right-hand man on the crew—died on April 9, 2007, while we were on our way to a jobsite. It was the day after Easter Sunday.
I kept working in the field for nearly two years after Larry’s death. I worked side by side with his ghost every day. Through my mind’s eye, I watched him perform his duties with precision and pride. I saw his sun-brushed pecan curls dripping with labor, his peridot eyes focused on the task at hand. I heard his tools scraping, pounding, tapping their way around the rooms. I spoke to him. I cried. But he couldn’t answer. I could see him, but I couldn’t touch him. I could never again wrap my arms around him and hold him tight.
In 2008, the housing market crashed. Construction slowed to a crawl. I stepped out of the field and took a customer service job—sitting on my ass in front of a computer. Three jobs and a layoff later, I landed a temp position with my current employer, while still managing the back office of our little business.
Eventually, the economy rebounded. The housing market recovered. We survived the crash and stayed in business. But I had no desire to return to the field. I’d lost my love for it when Larry died.
The Pivot
Fast forward to 2018. I saw that photo of Mrs. Potato—and I decided it was time for another change. But this time, it was going to be a chosen change.
It had been a long time since I felt good about myself. I hated how I looked, and I hated how I felt. My body was sluggish, stiff, and aching in ways that weren’t typical for me. My weight had always fluctuated, but this was different. I was older. I was going through menopause. I was grieving. And grief doesn’t just affect the psyche—it ravages the body.
I was fat, out of shape, neglected, and exhausted. And I was sick of it.
I reminded myself: Fifty isn’t old unless you make it old.
I looked in the mirror and had a conversation with myself:
“Your mother was a strong woman. At fifty, she was still working circles around women half her age. Until recently, you were doing the same.”
“Now is not the time to give up on yourself. Now is the time to get up off your ass and turn it around. You don’t like how you feel or what you see in the mirror? Then change it. You have the power—so do it.”
I didn’t know it then, but that moment was the beginning of something huge. A new beginning. The start of the rest of my life. And it turned out to be one hell of a crazy ride—in more ways than just my weight. But that’s a story for another day. 🙂
Walking has always been my go-to when I needed to drop a few pounds. It’s easy to fit into a busy schedule and doesn’t feel like work to me—so that’s where I started.
At my job, I had two fifteen-minute breaks and a thirty-minute lunch. I began walking the sidewalk around the building for ten minutes during each break, and around the parking lot for the first fifteen minutes of lunch.
Each week, I picked up the pace a little. After a month or so, I was walking briskly enough to cover nearly a mile in fifteen minutes. I’d walk away from the building, turn around, and head back. I used my second break for lunch.
I did this every workday for nearly eight months. Along with cutting back calories and being mindful of what I ate, I dropped weight and felt better than I had in years. My energy soared. I slept better. I felt good—really good. And it wasn’t just my body that was getting its vitality back, my psyche was on the mend as well. My heart didn’t feel as heavy, the fog was clearing from my mind, and my confidence was returning.
Eventually my confidence soared to the point that I expanded my routine and started weight training. (I can’t wait to share that with you.)
The key was consistency. Walking at work made it easy to stick with it. And consistency will carry you forward when motivation walks out the back door.
It starts with getting up and moving your body. It really is that simple.
You don’t have to walk a marathon every day. Break it down into small chunks. Start with ten to fifteen minutes once or twice a day. Getting started is the hardest part.
For me, it began with walking at work. For you, it might be pedaling a stationary bike, walking your dog, hula hooping, swimming, following a beginner’s YouTube video, or trying yoga. The list goes on.
Just move your body—purposefully and consistently. You’ll be amazed at how good you begin to feel and how much energy you gain.
I’d love to hear how you’re starting your own fitness journey. Drop a comment below and share what small steps you’re taking — your ideas might inspire someone else to begin too.