My parents will tell you I’ve been a worrier my whole life. I worried about coloring out of the lines as a child or not getting straight As through high school and college — not because my parents pressured me — but because of an intrinsic push to be perfect. If anything, my folks wanted me to take days off from school to rest or do something fun. As I grew older, I worried about crowds (where are the exits in case of an emergency?), money (how do I make more?), and time (as in being on time), but never my personal safety. Weird, right?
When I started dating my handsome and charismatic wheel-chairing husband, he managed a lot of adaptive volunteer ski and snowboard instructors in a very tiny space. I would bring my book to visit him at work and sit beneath his desk to stay out of the fray. When I married him and we had children, my worries escalated around buffet lines at weddings or parties at people’s houses I hadn’t been to before. How will we get inside? Are there levels? Will we need help? Do we trust our kids to stick close by while we navigate the situation?
Last month I turned 49 years old. I weigh more than I’ve ever weighed before even when I was nine months pregnant with both children. When I was a competitive athlete, I scheduled exercise into my day. It was as much for my mental health as physical. I realize a lot of moms and dads are in my position because of raising our children and that taking precedence over so much of any “free time” after work. But heart trouble, cancer, and strokes run in my family, and, if I want to be here for any of the people I love and care for on a daily basis, I need to make myself a priority. I need to return to the time when I scheduled exercise and held that time honorably.