For most of my 30s, “fixing my body” was basically a full-time job. Fix my weight. Fix my eating. Fix whatever was making my jeans feel tight.
Spoiler: it was exhausting.
And honestly, it worked well enough in my 30s that I never questioned it.
In my 40s, everything changed. Not overnight, not in a dramatic “new year, new me” kind of way. More in a “what I used to do isn’t working and I genuinely don’t have the energy to pretend it is” kind of way.
I didn’t need another plan. I needed less pressure. I needed something I could actually stick to without rearranging my whole life.
Turns out, that something was walking.
The Overhaul Trap
For most of my life, “getting healthy” meant doing everything at once — new diet, new workout routine, new protein powder I swore I’d finish but never did. If I was going to change, it had to be a complete overhaul.
If the timing wasn’t perfect, I’d push it to next week. Or next month. Or whenever life felt less chaotic.
Then I’d finally start.
Then I’d fall off.
Then I’d wait again.
Then I’d Google a new plan.
Rinse, repeat, feel bad about it.
The problem wasn’t willpower. The problem was that the all-in approach required too much time, energy, and perfection for a woman who already had a full life and a very tired nervous system.
I didn’t need more intensity. I didn’t need to fix myself before I even started. I needed something I could actually do as a normal person with a real life — not a fitness influencer with a ring light and no stress.
When Trying Harder Stopped Working
That all-in approach worked (sort of) when I was younger. Or at least it felt like it worked. But somewhere in my early 40s, trying harder just… stopped working. My body wasn’t responding the same way, and mentally, I was tired of treating my body like a performance review that reset every Monday.
This wasn’t about giving up. It was about finally admitting that pushing harder was starting to feel like punishment instead of progress.
What If Feeling Better Didn’t Require Becoming a Different Person?
At some point, I started wondering why every health plan seemed designed for a woman who had unlimited time, unlimited discipline, and no real responsibilities. Eat perfectly. Train perfectly. Sleep perfectly. Track everything. And somehow also be relaxed about it.
I wasn’t trying to become an athlete or a biohacker. I just wanted to feel (and look) like myself again. Not “hot” in a 20-something bikini-challenge way. Just hot in my own clothes. Hot when I passed a mirror. Hot in a “my body doesn’t feel swollen and betrayed” kind of way.
What if feeling better didn’t require discipline as a personality trait?
What if it didn’t require hating your body first?
What if it didn’t require becoming a completely different person?
I didn’t need more intensity. I needed less pressure.
Enter Walking (My Bare‑Minimum‑but‑Effective Era)
I didn’t start walking because I suddenly became a zen wellness person. And I definitely wasn’t trying to become a marathon runner. I started walking because I needed something I could actually do without rearranging my entire life.
Walking was the first habit that didn’t demand perfection — it worked on bad days too. I didn’t have to psych myself up for it. I didn’t have to “start Monday.” I didn’t have to earn it or prepare for it. I could just… go.
And for the first time in a long time, that felt possible.
Walking didn’t require equipment. It didn’t require spreadsheets, protein tracking, or a motivational playlist. It was the bare‑minimum thing I could do on a day when I had nothing left to give — and somehow that was enough to keep doing it.
The First Signs It Was Working (Slow, Subtle, and Not Sexy)
Walking didn’t fix everything overnight.
Honestly, I didn’t feel much at first — unless being tired counts. I was definitely out of shape, and my body wasn’t used to moving anywhere that wasn’t between my desk, my couch, and my bed.
It basically treated walking like an extreme sport.
But eventually, things started shifting in small ways. I wasn’t waking up feeling like a puffer fish anymore — or a human croissant that had spent the night rising on the counter.
Not tight and toned, just less swollen, less puffy, less… betrayed by my own body.
It wasn’t exciting. It wasn’t inspiring. But it was the first time in a long time that my body felt like it was responding instead of resisting.
The Foundation Shift
More than anything, walking became a habit I could actually keep. Not because it changed me overnight, but because it didn’t ask me to become someone else first.
No rebrand. No glow-up. Just shoes and a sidewalk.
The shift was small but real — the kind of “better” that doesn’t demand applause. Just a little less dread, a little more momentum.
Turns out, the thing that works is usually the thing you’re willing to do again tomorrow.
And if you’re curious how walking became the foundation of all this, I explained that whole situation here.