Picture it. 50+something, medium-build, short stature, blond highlighted curly hair that “may” be self-trimmed, growing bunions, feet comfortably plodding along in the latest UGG sandal/slipper hybrid, estradiol patch peaking out of her Knix brand running/bike shorts. She is half-smiling. Perhaps, she was beaming a moment ago, after a brief moment of joy, because she had witnessed a kind interaction between strangers on the sidewalk. Her mind harkened back to familiar such exchanges from the 90s, when pedestrians weren’t walking while texting their adult children/doctor/elderly parent who lost their hearing aids. It’s possible the moment of joy had to do with noticing the picturesque sky on her walk home from work or being happy she made it home without feeling like she had to stop somewhere to pee.

The brief tinge of joy is interrupted by a reminder by her right hip that she needs to do those static stretches this evening while watching TV with her husband. She was reminded by her fitness coach the day before that, in addition to the active pre-running stretches, it’d be best to also add in static stretches in the evening. The coach also suggested toe spacers to where around the house for those bunions. This was before she PR’d her dead lift and felt momentarily indestructible.

After feeling indestructible, she went to the office, where she was reminded, what indestructibleness looks like in one’s late 20s and early 30s. She wondered where those young professionals, with impressive resumes, would take their skills next, when they deemed it a good time to move on. She wondered if there were any places left to take her skills and “use her full potential”. She also wondered when she would next be able to lie on a grassy field and stare at the blue sky for an indeterminant amount of time.

She wondered again, as she had dozens of times this month, whether she should rip the estradiol patch off and forget the whole HRT business. She is never quite sure it’s making much of a difference. She’s still cranky as shit, sometimes, depending on what day the patch was stuck on her butt. She feels bloated 3 or 4 days a week, for no apparent reason, probably from the progesterone to offset the estradiol, but also, maybe just because she’s in menopause. If she goes off HRT, but keeps the vagifem, because the benefits of the vagifem seem to make more sense than anything else, will she get the head spins back? The vertigo that makes her wobble when walking or running and which may or may not have anything to do with menopause. Will her moods get better or worse? Should she take an SSRI? Should she re-think her understanding that alternative methods are not adequately studied and can carry significant risk, because, what IF those alternative methods would make her feel better and put her mind at ease about cancer risks, but really, we are all at risk of cancer if we live long enough anyway.

What if she’s actually doing just fine? What if she spent more time looking for quiet spaces to think (about love, creativity, agency, new ways to use her brain, new ways to make a living, her growing belief that the mechanism of boycotting small businesses about larger issues is classist and not effective for the intended purpose) – maybe there would be no need for patches or alternative supplements? She reminds herself of all the people who inspire her and which inspiration has nothing to do with their appearance and wonders how they managed this stage of life (if they’ve reached it yet or ever did).

In the meantime, she’ll keep being grateful for experiencing all these changes. She’ll seesaw between being happy with her changing face and wondering if she can get a facial that will freshen her eye area so she doesn’t look tired but that doesn’t look like she’s had work that just needs to be done over and over and over again. She’ll continue to find lots of moments of joy with her husband, with her family and friends and when she gets those endorphin rushes from exercise.

Catherine wrote about The “Menopause Gold Rush”: a boom for telehealth, still largely a bust for the rest of us today and this inspired me to put some of these thoughts down.

What do you think? Should I be a Menopause Brand Ambassador?

Long run day on Sunday. Strength training on Monday and Friday. Strength/conditioning Tuesday or Wednesday. Another run on Thursday before work. That’s my typical exercise schedule. Plus, usually 15,000-20,000 steps/day. 

What will change while I am on vacation? Where will I fit in my sanity sessions? I mean, the main goal for a vacation is to get away from the daily grind. For me, even with the enticement of a new vista, good food and relaxing vibes with my husband, I want to ensure my vacation routine allows for fitness breaks. 

My husband and I choose vacation spots where we know we are likely to walk everywhere and that ensures there will be built-in fitness. As a runner, it’s always a little exciting to see where my jaunts will take me in a different landscape. Sometimes, I’ll take advantage of a hotel’s exercise room for some strength training, but I realized on our way to Quebec City that the hotel I picked for our trip doesn’t have an exercise room.

The night before our train trip from Toronto to Quebec City (11 hours, including an hour changeover in Montreal), we went to see the Foo Fighters. It was a great concert, complete with picture-perfect summer stadium vibes and dancing with great company. I was in a great mood at the concert but, then on the way home I felt a bit melancholy. Pre-trip jitters (for various reasons, I wasn’t going to believe we were getting out of town for some fun, until we did)? Hormones? Residual grief? Who knows. 

Between the time we got home from the concert to the time we had to leave for the train station in the morning, I only slept for 2.5 hours. They were not a refreshing 2.5 hours because I was worried about sleeping through my alarm. 

I knew it would be a long train day with little movement, so I had gone for a 5k the morning before. I got up every once in awhile on the train to move, whether I had to pee or not, I wanted to move my legs when I could. I had prepared wholesome food to bring on the train. Homemade date/nut bars/breakfast sandwiches. By the time we arrived in Quebec City, after a 12 hour trip, we were still famished, tired and dehydrated. I brought neck pillows, in hopes of some upright slumber, but I still haven’t mastered the art of on-transport sleeping.

After walking uphill from the train station to our hotel in old Quebec City, showering and changing, we walked to a place we had already made reservations for dinner – Nina Pizza which was some of the best pizza I’ve had in a long time. Who knows if the lead up and scenery led to that determination, but it was a perfect ‘za (and Caesar salad). It had a perfect crust – just the right amount of char on bottom with a slight creamy quality. The tomato sauce was the kind that I find hard to find — as if someone strained fresh, sun-grown tomatoes on a grater and added just the perfect seasoning to enhance the tomato flavour, along with simple roasted eggplant and divinely stretchy cheese. 

Here are my notes about fitness from my time in Quebec City:

First morning in Quebec City. Slept well but tired. Body tired. Decided not to jog yet. There will be a lot of walking and need to listen to body. I did some stretches in the hotel room before coffee and ferry to Levis. Stretches often include standard seated hip hinges, runner’s lunges, down-dog calf movements. 

My Garmin watch sleep stats alerted me to the “stress” portion during the first part of my sleep that first night. I have never seen this noted while sleeping. After noticing it a couple times on this trip, some light investigating informed me this can be due to lack of sleep, too much caffeine, one glass of wine. I regularly drink coffee and have never noticed this before. I rarely drink alcohol these days. I had two drinks in 5 days this trip. I’m guessing the stats had more to do with lack of sleep and midlife stress. I’ll keep an eye on it to see if it shows up again at home. 

On our first full day in QC, I walked 33000 (hilly) steps. We took a ferry to Levis and walked around there and up these beautiful red stairs. We headed back to Quebec City, up the funiculaire and continued walking all over old Quebec. Plains of Abraham. Montcalm neighbourhood. We even stayed out and talked to locals and caught a magnificent fireworks display on the waterfront. I slept walked the 10 min back to the hotel after the fireworks.  

On our second day, I stretched again, did a few push-ups and jumping jacks, in the room, before heading out for a slow 4.5 km discovery jog along the Plains of Abraham. Then we walked the rest of the day, both in Quebec City and, went on a little excursion to Hotel Musee Premieres-nations. where, after taking in the museum and grounds, took advantage of very comfortable lounge chairs for a brief nap under a canopy of maple trees. We also enjoyed a forest walk which incorporates Wendat culture and a light show in the dark forest, here: https://onhwalumina.ca/en/

On Day 3, I thought about going for a jog, but decided against it. My body felt tired. We walked the 15 min walk to the coffee shop we found in the Montcalm area the day before. Then we picked up some cheese, bread and fruit from the little mall in that area and headed to the Plains of Abraham for a little picnic in park. Then we walked some more. More stairs. I decided I needed to lie on the grass. Gavin climbed a tower (sightseeing), and I laid on a park bench, looked at the sky and then did some stretching. It felt like an active rest day. Then we ventured to a live jazz club in the evening, conveniently located within a 5 min walk from our hotel. Even with the “active rest day”, I still managed to get in almost 30,000 steps.

On Day 4, I stretched, went out for a run, coffee, walked through an excellent exhibit at the Musee National des Beaux-Arts du Quebec: https://www.mnbaq.org/en/programming/exhibitions/hyperrealism-this-is-not-a-body. On to more hilly walking at a leisurely pace through Rue Saint-Jean. Once again, reached 30,000 steps.

On Day 5, it was time to stretch before heading to the long train ride home.

I noticed on this trip that overall, I felt more tired. Was it all the steps? The average 30 degree temperature (it was hotter in NYC several years ago and we walked just as much, and, I don’t remember feeling this tired). While this trip included it’s share of R&R, I find myself thinking about where I can take a few naps and maybe get a massage in the coming days. Oh, and, back to my usual fitness routine.

Morning workout. Admired my deltoids in motion when doing banded jumps. Easy banter with coach and workout mate.

Coffee was nice on quiet, otherwise busy, holiday morning street.

Let’s go to the cafe for brunch. It’s not open yet. Plan B “inspired” smorgasbord of eggs, whole grain toast with PB&J. Turkey sausage and carrots.

Relax on patio. Blue sky. 5 min reprieve. 

Take call. Handle best as possible. Hope for best. 

Forced relaxation. Put the umbrella up. Relax. Relax. It was raining yesterday. No work. Relax.

Smoothie. Charge phone. Charge me.

Make oat bars for upcoming train ride. Oats. Dates. Chia. Flax. Cinnamon. Vanilla. Raspberries. Marshmallow for fun. Fun. 

Fun. Relax. It’s a holiday. Relax while you can. How are you relaxing today? 

It has been 365 days like no other.

28 days after I turned 53, my Mom died.

It wasn’t unexpected that my Mom died. She had been sick for quite some time. There is still nothing like it when it happens. 

I remember feeling like I was living out of body for the first few months. The physical effects of losing one’s Mom, were surprising to me. I knew I would be emotional. I would miss her. A million ways and more. But the physical feeling of a chunk being removed from my being was unexpected. 

For the first few months, I overshared my thoughts about my Mom, via video. While it helped me, I was glad when it ran it’s course. I’m sure others were too.

Fitness-wise, I recall continuing to jog through grief and go to classes. I remember the first few classes felt heavy. A blur. 

Along the way, things stayed much the same with my fitness routine — I love my running and strength classes. However, the venues changed in some cases. The strength classes moved around and now I have been enjoying a regular place a couple times a week, even though it is a 40 min walk in the morning, to get there. Sometimes, a good friend is there too and that’s a bonus. I also recently tried a new class with a familiar coach and loved it. This is different than the seven or so years I spent going to one place. Overall, change can be good.

I have experienced both old and new sensations while running/jogging, also. Sometime in early spring, the vertigo I experienced a couple of years ago (around the same time of year) returned. One week I had the best post-winter run of the year and the next, the world was spinning again, if I moved to fast and, sometimes, when I was only attempting to walk. Thankfully, I learned some tricks the first time this happened and I was able to move through it and get back to normal running again by the beginning of May. 

While running is feeling really good and I am working on getting a good pace back, I am also noticing my body needs a bit more rest in between a long run followed by a heavy strength day. Will age help me listen to that intelligence? Sometimes, I am forced to slow down on “in between days” whether I listen to the messages or not. 

I find myself craving more movement and stretching in my hips and lower body and find myself taking some mornings to simply move through supportive exercises in my living room. 

Overall, I have been feeling much more like myself again, for several months. At least — the self that continues to evolve, if we are lucky enough to age. The evolution feels less about the grief of the last year and more like typical 50-something changes, in an ever changing world. A world full of wonders, delights, simple moments, frustration, stress, monotony, sadness, joy and horrors. Yesterday, I was going to add “not bad for 54” to by Strava run comments but I went for “Grateful for another year”. That feeling deepens with each year. The gratitude. The inability to take anything for granted. The immense sense of privilege I have to age – and – in the part of the world where I was fortunate to be born with so many built-in advantages. I hope I learn how to support those less fortunate, in a really useful way, with each year I am granted.

Several years ago, while running, I started using the mantras, “I am. I can. I will. I do” (thank you, Christine D’arcole). Then I added “Thank you”. (Just to my body for being able to do things) “Envision” (when I was looking for a job). I would find that these mantras would automatically kick in, somewhere along the route.

A couple of years ago, when I first had that vertigo problem, I added things like, “Fuck it”, “Just Run”. This was because the vertigo would have me start jogging, stopping within a block because of spinning head.” Starting again. Over and over. This would create more anxiety and make things worse. Sometimes, the most helpful thing to think for my anxious brain was, “Fuck it”, “Just Run!”

This time, when the vertigo returned, but then started getting better, I’ve start adding, “It’s just a feeling”, “Don’t take the short cut”. This helped me get past the stop/starting and into a familiar and pleasant groove.

A boxing coach used to tell us, if people were pushing past a tough point in an abs section or running up a hill, “It’s just a feeling”. Of course, people know when it is more than a feeling and to stop but, if one is feeling good and know they can do it, I find this prompt helpful. It is not just the vertigo. A slow running winter and those middle age aches have required that I get some of my cardio up again so that I can push past my delicious comfort zone, into an even more delectable endorphin dessert. It helps if I remind myself that some discomfort can be nothing but a feeling to move through and past. 

Once again, running is not unlike other parts of life – such as moving through grief experienced when losing a loved one. Sometimes you just need to move through it. Sometimes you get to another side where your Mom is there, just in a different way. She is the air that you breathe in and the sunrise on a walk to work or a ladybug on your shoulder.  You can’t take a shortcut to move past the uncomfortableness and onto the good stuff.

Gyms require membership. There are rules. There are private golf clubs and such (not my cup of tea either). In this year 2026, when we are already being inundated with such gremlins as an unwelcome skinnification resurgence which creeps into otherwise healthy fitness spaces, I say no thank you to a new trend that seems to be peeking into my social feeds – boutique gyms that require you to “apply” to be accepted as a member.

Many years ago, I found out that I prefer smaller gyms that provide group fitness classes where the coaching is more personal, careful, friendly, and very important for me, not snobby. I don’t want to feel like I have to prove myself while I’m doing push presses. I don’t want to wonder if I am “enough” while I stabilize my hips for step ups.

Clearly, I am not the target audience, but it really bothers me that the “wellness” industry is finding more ways to lose the point of fitness. In a world where people often do not feel confident when approaching fitness for the first or tenth time, we don’t need more barriers to inclusiveness. In a time when we all could use as much strength as possible to support us as we age, we do not need to feel like we need to fit a certain profile to be accepted into the weight room. There are so many ways the current “content” culture tries to make fitness into something new that needs special instructions and private doors to walk through – with the right expert influencer to help you through the door – when it is just not necessary. It infuriates me because fitness should be accessible and welcoming to all. I was reminded of (good) information from a coach I read the other day, that actually does make sense – keep to the basics – practice “push”, “pull”, “hinge”, “squat”, “press”, “lunge”. You don’t need to be accepted by application to a secret club to do these things. I can only imagine what other crap lurks behind that secret door.

What about you dear readers? How do you feel about applying to a private gym for membership?

It was a long winter in Toronto. When I started running over 20 years ago, I started in the fall, and I continued throughout the winter. The first official race I participated in was a “Chilly 10K” in December. With this foundation for my running experience, I continued to run outside throughout the winter. Most winters in Toronto would allow for enough days where the snow was plowed quickly and the sidewalks were not icy. I developed a rule that as long as it wasn’t colder than -10 C and the sidewalks were clear, I’d go for my jog. My jogs were not as long as they were in the spring-autumn season, but still, I’d go out and run.

I have found the last couple winters to be more challenging for outdoor running. The main reason is that there seemed to be more “icy sidewalk” days. There seems to be a lot more extreme fluctuations, day-to-day, with lots of snow, cold, freezing, warmer, melting – and back and forth – which tends to result in icy sidewalks. With age, I can tell that I’m becoming averse to walking on even a little bit of ice.

I also don’t like running on treadmills. Years ago, one of the weird movement things I developed was that as soon as I get any speed going, my brain instructs my legs to jump to the sides. I just don’t bother anymore. I don’t enjoy the treadmill and I don’t care. It’s only been an issue when I went for a stress test once and determined that I needed to get on a waiting list for the bicycle version of a stress test, because I was incapable of walking on the treadmill long enough and fast enough for it to be an effective test.

I digress. Where was I?

It was a long winter. For running. For grief. For many things. However, I’ve been running regularly again. Last week, I had one of the best runs in a long time. I beamed about it. I wrote about it. I glowed about too much joy. Then (did I plutz too much?), a few days later, I went out for a jog and the anxiety-induced vertigo that was an issue in recent years, started to emerge again. Not as forcefully as last time. It’s manageable, but it’s there. It feels clearly like a head condition. Connected to a feeling of anxiety that affects my feeling of stability in the world. Possibly triggered by spring allergies, even though I now take heavy-duty prescription antihistamines daily.

I am working my way through the things that help me with getting through it. I have lessons in my pocket from last time, that I’m employing faster and more regularly and, I’m hoping, it doesn’t get worse.

One of the things I find helps, is warming up a bit. Walk a bit first. Then transition to a run/walk and then I get a better rhythm. You may see me doing some walking warm-ups. Swinging my arms to and fro to feel my balance in the world. I also talk to myself. I bring out my mantras. “I am. I can. I will. I do. Envision. Thank you”. “Don’t take the shortcut.” “Fuck it.” “Just go.” “Your legs are strong.” “YOU ARE A RUNNER!”

I also look at places to ‘go to” as the next part of my leg – a utility pole or a car or a sign. It helps to focus on that next destination rather than the current portion of sidewalk I’m on.

I don’t know if it’s helping my running but I am always aware of the people I think about who are no longer here but who are present. My Mom. I’ve said to people recently, when we talk about the great void with her loss, that I feel her everywhere. Her energy is EVERYWHERE. At the tip of my nose. At the back of my skull. She is present. I think of a late Aunt (she died in 2010) who called me when I completed my first marathon and I was so surprised at how emotional she was about it. I didn’t know she would be so proud of something like that but she really, really was.

It’s occurring to me lately, that what IS helping my running, is “relying on a little help from my friends”. I don’t mean physically. I like to run on my own. I mean conjuring up experiences that make me feel like I have my friends’ support with me in the moment. I think of gym classes, where we’d go outside the gym and run together as a group for a little loop. I think of those people, imagine them running next to me. I think of gym friends and imagine they are waiting for me ahead. This helps.

This imaginary community support reminds me of a quote from Maya Angelou, “I come as one, but I stand as 10,000.” I have thought of this concept outside of running. For example, when I’m anticipating a tough call at work. I’ve thought of the strong family role models I’ve had. I think of the things they’ve had to endure and how strongly they would have handled those situations. I know not all things are relative, but sometimes, I’ve thought, if they could deal with that (big) thing, I can surely handle this (much smaller) thing. It makes sense that that this feeling of community support, that I’m fortunate to have had in my life – whether from family members or friends, around me or no longer in my life, can help me feel confident during times of uncertainty.

How about you readers, are there situations where you conjure up, “a little help from your friends”, even if only in your imagination?

When you are grieving loved ones, but starting to feel a bit more like yourself on some days, how much is too much joy?

When you are navigating elder care, but can only be physically in a place once a week, how many days focusing on your work without feeling melancholy, counts as selfish?

How much sun on your face, is too much? Did you get too happy and share that moment?

How many nights in a row of good sleep scores is indulgent?

How much yearning for a vacation when the climate is acting like a pubescent teenager and the fascists are making war is too much?

How much anger is acceptable when you recognize a genetic disposition to occasional releasing of repressed emotions?

What if you were taught you should always make time for a simcha (celebration) (unless you are in a strict mourning period). What if you don’t believe in strictness?

Don’t forget that if you exclaim over your good fortune, you should also wear something red to ward off the evil eye, or exclaim, “from your mouth to god’s ear, poo poo poo”, in case you are exclaiming too much.

My social share from Saturday morning:

I don’t have a video for Saturday evening or Sunday afternoon because I wasn’t plutzing. I was noticing sadness. Maybe frustration. Perhaps helplessness? I think that’s called balance? Allowable balance?

What if you are an independent person who can intellectually understand it’s OK to feel joy? What if you are a modern person who believes in self care? What if you are a set of ancient DNA that pulls in familar directions?

What if your work demands understanding and openness you have to remind yourself to feel to those closer to you?

What if reminiscing over old photos reminds you of close ties, good times, also – sad moments and lost potential? When did you deal with those old stories? Did you?

If you are fifty-three and three quarters you are not supposed to care what people think. Do you still get to care what you think? Do you get to think differently? Do you believe you will work on finding answers?

Some Monday musings.

Content warning: the following post includes personal thoughts about diet/body image.

“I work out 5 days a week. Eat enough protein, not too many carbs, good sleep and on HRT and I’m (not losing weight/still gaining weight).
“

The above quote is a variation on similar ones that I see on various social media platforms. Some days, (in my head), when I see these comments, I think, “maybe that’s the size you are supposed to be after doing those things” (feeling annoyed and smug at the same time)

Then, the next morning on the scale after a good strength day (preceded by a run day) and a good sleep week. “Ugh, why does the scale keep going up.”

Menopausal me isn’t that different from 30 year old me, to be honest. I like to think I’ve moved past my early societal indoctrination into diet culture.

Around age 31, I started running, working out more regularly (quit smoking for good) and, may have even stopped weighing myself for awhile. Trying to silence the Gen X childhood, lookalike daughter to a woman people would joke to about her size. Yes, while she was in a larger body, people would call her “Slim” for “Simi”. She was always on a diet. Eating cottage cheese and pineapple (everything old is new again) and (stressfully, joyfully?) sneaking parts of Michele’s Baguette’s cheese buns on car rides home.

Simi wasn’t into fitness. She tried to get active, here and there (cycling with friends, only to tumble and injure herself, walking on the treadmill, on and off, for years). She became fitter than ever in her late 50s after her first angioplasty and becoming a star student in cardio rehab. So much so, there was a piece written about her in the local newspaper.

She became svelter over the years, sometimes from more walking. Sometimes from less sugar. Sometimes from medications to manage her Type II diabetes. She even switched to GLP-1 to replace Metformin and it made her svelter in her older years. More fitting to her nickname,”Slim”.

In her last couple years, she shrunk to nothing. As is not uncommon, when someone is in the palliative stage, she couldn’t keep weight on. I could still hear the happiness in her voice when she would hear the latest wee size. She had to weigh herself, everyday, so she would know how much Lasix to take, to keep down the fluids in her legs, the fluids weighing down her (giant) heart.

I would hear her exclaiming she was “112 pounds” or whatever. As much as I would give anything to have her stronger, healthier, stature back, the one she wanted more than anything to shrink, I would be happy for her.

I understood how, while her appetite wasn’t as big, as she needed energy to continue to LIVE, she was relishing her ability to eat a bit of ice cream, without guilt. To think about what she wanted to eat that day and, no matter the salt, oil, bread, content, just eat it.

I remember being in elementary school and other students joking about how, on meet the teacher nights, they had to move the desks apart so my Mom could fit through.

I wish my natural reaction was, “so what??!”

I wish my natural reaction had been, “do you know my Mom gives the BEST, “squishy”, hugs? The kind of hugs that I craved for the safe, pillowy-ness, they provided?”

I wish my natural reaction had been to not care, in the ’80s when I lost weight when I had pneumonia, and I beamed at the compliments, from family friends about how thin I had become, in such a short time.

I wish I had focussed on the amazing hugs (which I also liked to give to friends in the school yard when I was in grade 1) and not how I was “little Simi” at the same time that I wanted to be thin and beautiful like the supermodels in Glamour magazine.

I wish that I hadn’t internalized all the love for thin females and the power it seemed to invoke, by starting to diet when I was 11. Sure, I still discovered “double double coffee” around that time and running to the strip mall at lunch for golden fries, salty fries. But, I started counting those fries. I started calculating what I should and shouldn’t eat.

In all honesty, as much as I learned to appreciate what exercise does for my body, outside of weight management – as much as I worked for the last 20 years to try to silence diet culture and, “what I should look like”, I don’t think that ’80s dieter has ever completely gone away.

It seemed to get quieter for awhile. People seemed to talk about getting thin less. I went to gyms with other middle aged women who focus on the strength training and good vibes more than how many calories are being burned.

I’m not the first one to notice that diet culture and thinness are back with a vengeance. Add thousands of Gen X and older Millennials, going on about the wonders of the perfect mix of protein, cortisol reducing potions, exercise, HRT – and GLP-1 and the noise about thinness is bigger than ever.

I’m also noticing some coaches, ones who mean well, ones who will gladly espouse the dangers of diet culture, finding new ways to promote variations on diet culture. I can’t help but think that obsessing about how much protein I am eating every day, tracking food in any form, ultimately does nothing other than feed into the compulsions for orthorexia that are lying dormant. I also see these coaches talking about their past lessons and the reasons why they are promoting these new “ways” as the key to lasting peace with their bodies. With their serenity. When I see these coaches posting about their past struggles and their new findings (that they are selling, of course), I can’t help but liken it to certain religious groups who provide countdowns to the apocalypse, only to start the recount when that date comes and goes without frogs dropping from the sky.

At a time when women’s rights are at threat in grand old democracies. At a time when women have every right to be angry about a myriad of things most people feel helpless about, it seems, the old tug to try to control (probably foolishly) our bodies won’t go away. If not us, who else. If not now, when?

I don’t even feel OK providing advice, because, I am still working on myself. Hopefully, I’ll have the privilege, not afforded to all, for many decades, to continue working on myself. I feel kind of ashamed of that privilege, to be honest. To waste my precious resources on thinking about what size my body should be. At the end of the day, I hope I’ll be able to use this body, whatever shape it is in, for the greater good. For more important things.

Whatever happens, those important things won’t have anything to do with how much protein I eat (or failed to eat) on any given day.

There are many healthy ways to deal with an array of emotions. I happen to find various forms of fitness are often just what the doctor ordered. This is not really meant to be prescriptive. It’s meant to be fun. If you have a preferred method of dealing with these emotions, please let me know what those methods are!

Here is my suggested list of movement for various emotions:

Do you feel like crying?

Go for a run.

Do you feel like beaming?

Go for a walk.

Do you feel like screaming?

Go for a strength training session.

Do you feel numb?

Go to a deep stretch class.

Do you feel sleepy?

Go to Pilates.

Do you feel calm?

Go to a HIIT class.

Looking for inspiration?

Walk or run and listen to a podcast or audio book

As a bonus, here are a few IG accounts of celebrities who I find refreshing these days:

Isabella Rosselini: https://www.instagram.com/isabellarossellini/

“Thetracymooore”: https://www.instagram.com/thetracymoore/

Readers what movement, podcast, story, book, anything, fits your mood(s) these days?

The FIFI bloggers often share articles amongst our group as potential inspiration to write a blog post. The other day, Sam shared, “The Generational Barriers to Physical Activity in Canada” by Wasif Chaudri in ParticipACTION (Helping people in Canada move more where they live, learn, work and play since 1971): https://www.participaction.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/02/ParticipACTION_Generational_Barriers_to_Physical_Activity_in_Canada_report.pdf

In a nutshell, the survey conducted by ParticipACTION looked to understand the reasons why, “If physical activity is recognized as being valuable (for improved mental health, increased energy and reduced risk of chronic diseases like diabetes and heart disease), but participation rates are still so low, what is preventing people from living active lifestyles?”

The survey concluded these main takeaways:

Key Generational Barriers (Based on 2026 ParticipACTION Report)

• Gen Z (18–27): Reports the highest number of barriers, including high self-consciousness, fear of failure, and lacking companionship or space for activity.
• Other Generations (Millennials, Gen X, Boomers): While also facing constraints (work obligations, boredom with exercise choices, injury and other health issues, particularly for Boomers), they tend to report fewer psychological, image-driven barriers compared to Gen Z.
• Universal Barriers: Across all ages, common barriers include lack of time, low energy/fatigue, and financial constraints. 

A key recommendation from the article was for individuals to seek supportive, beginner-friendly group activities and spaces that reduce social pressure to boost confidence. I agree with this recommendation.

The results of this survey got me thinking, what would have to change, on a bigger level, for factors such as time, low self-confidence, lack of energy, financial constraints, to not block increases in physical fitness across ages?

1. REASON – as a society, we have to make a bigger change in the messaging about the reason for exercise. Existing societal messages leave many people with the idea that the main reason to get out there for regular exercise is to “improve” the way they look. While it can be great for people to feel more comfortable in their body because they workout more regularly, this should not be the primary driver. The primary driver should be – exercise will make you feel better overall. It will improve the health markers/outcomes described in the survey.
2. We, as a larger society, have to do more than talk about “work/life balance”. We need to advocate for more green spaces, more time, better transporation options, more affordable ways for people to successfully incorporate fitness in their day. It should not be thought of as a “nice to have” but a “necessity”.

What do you think readers? What can be done to remove some of the barriers described in the survey?