When I was a kid, I spent a lot of time in the car. 
Like most kids during the late 70s and 80s, I was forced to comply with my parent’s weekend travel plans. Every Sunday we would pile into the car and make the trip from Long Island to the Bronx so they could see the family that “lived so far away.”
With nothing to occupy myself but sibling punch buggy fights and imagination, I would position myself one of two ways: backward, knees pressed into the backseat, watching the traffic build behind us, or as far away from my sister as possible, face pressed against the window.
As my dad sped up or down the Long Island Expressway, I’d watch the landscape blur and imagine myself running alongside our Buick Regal. Yes, running.
Sometimes I would be on roller skates, but mostly, my own legs would carry me up and down the stretch of highway at lightning speeds. In my mind, I could just about fly. 
That may sound weird to some, but to me, it was perfectly normal. Moving my body in some way shape or form has been instilled in me since I could walk. I’ve written a lot of blog posts and articles about this – from my experience with sports, the motivations behind my movements, the highs I get from exercise, the postpartum fitness journeys, the excitement I get from physical challenges, and the sheer joy I get from simply using my legs to walk. Movement always was – and is – a part of my life.
Then, you guessed it – March 2020 hit and the world shut down. Teaching positions became desk jobs. We sat in front of screens for way more hours than a regular school day. Like everyone, my husband and I were nervous, shell shocked, and in many ways lucky. Our family stayed healthy.
At first it was fun to dream up ways to keep myself, my students, and my family moving. My seventh grade classes were either humored or horrified by daily YouTube videos of their teacher encouraging them to do push-ups. But it kept me sane.
When April came and lived up to its rainy reputation, I lost some zeal and gained a few pounds. Joe and I would celebrate the end of every day with a cocktail, followed by some wine at dinner. It became a welcome and anticipated routine. The gratitude was still there, but I wasn’t baking bread, I wasn’t becoming a DIY expert, I wasn’t transforming – I was surviving. 
By summer, Joe and I made a decision. I would not return to Orange Theory Fitness, or any gym, for an indefinite period. Instead, we would make the investment into a Peloton treadmill – something that would keep me going and the whole family could use, rain or shine. Although it wouldn’t arrive until October, I was pumped.
Over the summer, I continued to run outdoors whenever possible, and I also rediscovered the joy of simply walking. I walked for an hour or two a day. Sometimes I’d listen to music, many times a podcast, and/or a book. All of the above calmed me during the chaos, inspired me to live better, and reminded me again of how lucky my family was to be alive and well.
When the world sort of opened up again, I pushed aside any fomo I felt about the gym, specifically Orange Theory. I told myself the Peloton was coming, this was just a season, and I’d be back to myself in no time. I even went and signed myself up for a half marathon, which I’ve done three times before, so no big deal, right?
Well, the Peloton is here, (and yes, it IS all it’s hyped up to be, and no, it is NOT a place I hang clothes.) However, I’m still taking a lot of long walks outside whenever possible.
Instead of daily bootcamp classes on the tread, I’m trying hikes, walk/run classes, and pilates. (Yoga and stretching still do not thrill me). I’ve tried.
The walk/run workouts are no joke and they make me happy. The outdoor run classes leave me breathless, and each and every one of the instructors is amazing.
BUT – Is there a part of me that wishes I was in a live OTF class every day with people I know cheering me on and screaming like maniacs? Yes. Is there a part of me that thinks my fitness level has waned? Yes. Is there a part of me that doesn’t lift all the weights when I’m by myself in the basement? Yes. Am I second guessing that fourth half marathon? Yes.
I’m not the beast I used to be – yet.
As ridiculous as that all sounds, I’m not settled about it. It seems frivolous. I am healthy, I am loved, I am here on this earth – alive. To drive that home, in real time, as I type, my son is sitting next to me, reading over my shoulder. He just looked up at me and whispered, “Mommy, no matter what this says, I think you’re doing great.”
And that, my friends, is a great place to end. Thanks for reading. 
