The wake-up call
I turned 50, and my shoulder was killing me.
I went to a physical therapist expecting a quick fix—a stretch, maybe some ibuprofen and rest. Instead, she showed me something that stopped me: the muscles in my back were not doing enough to support my shoulder blade. That lack of strength and stability was contributing to the pain.
That was my wake-up call.
It sent me down a path I hadn't planned on: yoga, spinning, and strength training. Eleven years later, I'm still on it. And after all that time, one thought keeps coming back to me: I wish I'd started younger.
Don't get me wrong. I'm grateful for every bit of progress I've made. But it would have hurt less and taken less time if I had built that foundation earlier and stayed with it. Instead, I waited until my body forced the issue. A shoulder blade without enough muscular support is not subtle. It gets your attention.
I think about that now, especially after everything I've learned about food and nourishment. We often treat movement the same way we treat nutrition—as something optional, something to deal with later, something that matters only after there is a problem. Nobody wants to build the foundation. Everybody wants to fix the collapse.
But here's what I try not to lose sight of: I still can. My body still lets me show up, build, and become stronger at 61 than I was at 50. That's not something everyone gets, and I don't take it for granted. Eleven years in, I'm still building mine—slower than I'd like some days, but grateful for every single one of them.
Balance over extremes
Listen to the message.
Exercise isn't about pushing your body to the extreme. Unless you're training for the Olympics—or another very specific goal—that is simply not the point.
It's about balance. It's about respecting yourself and actually listening to what your body is telling you instead of overriding it because you think you should push harder.
If your body says it's tired, respect that. Some days that means an easy workout. Some days it means a full rest day, with no guilt attached and no explanation needed.
Not every injury comes with a warning. But some develop after we repeatedly ignore the messages our bodies have been sending us.
Movement
I work with the body I have that day.
Spinning is energy, effort, music, sweat, and momentum. Yoga asks for patience, balance, and the willingness to notice what the body is saying instead of forcing it to perform.
Some days I feel strong. Other days I don't. I'm not trying to prove that I'm fit enough, flexible enough, or disciplined enough. I work with the energy I have that day.
I'm stronger at 61 than I was at 50. I don't take that for granted.
Breath work & stillness
It seems almost too simple. I'm just breathing.
I started reading and watching Wim Hof's work, and honestly, his breathing process is what pulled me in first. Yoga has its own breath work, too. Over time, I combined parts of different methods with slower, more deliberate breathing and developed a practice that feels like mine.
But when I bring real intention and attention to it, the experience changes. It can feel restorative and comforting. And it costs nothing: no equipment, membership, or app subscription. Just the commitment to stop and practice.
I try to be careful about making breath work sound like a cure-all. Research on breathing practices is still developing, and different methods do different things. Slow breathing and focused attention are used as relaxation techniques and may help some people feel calmer or less anxious. For me, the pattern gives my mind an anchor when my thoughts are racing. Before bed, a quiet breathing practice helps signal that it is time to settle down.
What I can speak to with certainty is what I've experienced. My body feels calmer. My thoughts slow down. I can focus more clearly, fall asleep more easily, and release some of the tension I carry in my lower back. At times I finish feeling more awake and less foggy. I can't claim that everyone will feel the same way, or that I know the exact biological reason for every change. I only know what the practice has done for me.
Breath work is not simply about forcing more oxygen into the body. Breathing too quickly or deeply can lower carbon dioxide levels and cause tingling, lightheadedness, or fainting. That's why I don't treat intensity as the goal. I pay attention to how I feel and stop when something doesn't feel right.
Eleven years into my practice with movement, breath work has become one of the pieces that ties it all together. It's free, it's simple, and it works for me when I actually stick with it.
Stillness
I practice because I haven't mastered my mind.
Meditation doesn't make life permanently peaceful. It doesn't prevent frustration, anxiety, distraction, or difficult days. What it can do is create a little space.
That space may be the moment between feeling something and reacting to it. That little bit of space is enough reason for me to keep practicing.
Rapid breathing and long breath holds can cause fainting. I practice seated or lying down—never while driving, swimming, in or near water, or anywhere that losing consciousness could cause harm. Breath work is not a replacement for medical or mental health care.
Further reading: National Center for Complementary and Integrative Health and Wim Hof Method breathing safety guidance.