By Gwen Rockwood, newspaper columnist and mama of 3
For years, I said the thing all busy parents say when we’re wading through the drama of raising humans – the feeding and cleaning, the last-minute science projects, and the after-school activities that swallow up evenings and whole weekends. On days when I felt outnumbered by kids, errands and messes, I’d mentally reassure myself with this one hopeful phrase: “When the kids are in college, I’ll have time to take care of myself.”
And now here we are. All three kids in college. No one needs me to drive them somewhere, sign permission slips, or edit their college application essay. It’s time to do the thing I always said I’d do, right?
I started small, which was hard for me because I have that voice in my head that says, “If you’re not going to do it right, don’t do it at all.” (That voice is such a jerk.) Movement was at the top of my to-do list.
Roughly one billion health articles have drilled this truth into me: Movement and strength are the things that will largely determine how the rest of your physical life is going to go. So, I started with only 10 minutes of walking up and down my driveway. When the weather was bad, I walked around the house and timed it. I listened to audiobooks or podcasts during the walk, which made it go by faster. I didn’t change into exercise clothes. Didn’t go to a walking trail or a gym. I just put on the closest pair of tennis shoes and started walking.
Sometimes I stopped walking after 10 minutes because, technically, that’s all I promised myself. Ten for the win. But most of the time, I keep going because, by that point, I realize it feels good to walk. And this magical earbud full of books, podcasts and music keeps my mind entertained while my feet keep the promise.
And for the first time in my life, it’s not motivated by vanity. I just want to stay well. To feel better. To be able to keep walking my driveway two decades from now.
In addition to putting one foot in front of another, I’m trying so hard to eat better food, which mostly means breaking up with the convenient snacks I grew up with in the 80s. Particularly for women whose estrogen levels are diving off a cliff, eating the good stuff is a huge deal. My brain is jam-packed and dizzy from all the experts’ advice: More protein! More fiber! Magnesium for leg aches! Turmeric for inflammation! Low sodium! Macronutrients! Omegas! Strength training! Balance exercises! Water! Water! Water!
As a recovering Cheetos addict who would hook myself up to an IV of Chick-fil-A sweet tea if I could, this new way of eating isn’t easy. Eating lousy is wildly convenient. There are entire industries designed to make it that way. Eating well requires strategy and planning, and I’m trying to get the hang of it.
I keep reminding myself of all the reasons why it matters. The quality of our health colors every aspect of our lives. And if Tom and I have grandkids someday, I want to be able to scoop them up and haul them around on my non-brittle hip.
But sometimes, especially at night, another part of me is tired of being smart and responsible. She just wants a bowl of cereal and a fun-sized Twix bar left over from Halloween. I have to put that part of me to bed before she makes choices we’ll both regret. The kids are in college now, and it’s time for me to make good on that promise.
Gwen Rockwood is a syndicated freelance columnist. Email her at gwenrockwood5@gmail.com. Her book is available on Amazon.
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