Essay #7: "You Are Strong"

On Saturday morning I took the Strength Train Together class at the Y. It's traditional full-body strength training, albeit choreographed to music and done as a group exercise. I've been taking the class twice weekly for two years now. As we did one of our deadlifts, I glanced at myself in the mirror. I could see the definition in my shoulders and biceps. I could see my thigh muscles, firmly supporting the weight.

Later in the afternoon, I visited the Cincinnati Nature Center. I hike there a lot, and I've done each trail dozens of time, but I'd never done them in a single go, completing the 11-mile "Perimeter Trail." I had only planned on doing a moderate hike--maybe 4-5 miles--but suddenly it seemed the perfect time to do the whole thing. It was a beautiful day. I could have worn a t-shirt, even though it was December. After three and a half hours, I finished, a little hungry and my knees only a little sore. 

It was a day where I felt strong.

This feeling of strength is new to me. I wasn't athletic as a kid. Sure, I ran around at recess or in the woods behind my neighborhood, but I never played on any sports teams. In gym, when we had to play softball, I'd choose the outfield, and unless the ball landed directly at my feet (I never tried to catch it), I'd stare at it as if it were a meteor or something--not something I was responsible for.

My self-perception didn't change much as an adult. In college I joined the fencing club, but I was a poor fencer, and in later years, I abandoned fencing myself to run the club and our competitions. I worked out in my late 20's but stopped when I got pregnant with Amelia. I did twice-weekly lifting with a trainer after Clara's birth, in a desperate attempt to reshape my mangled stomach, but I was overwhelmed and exhausted by working and caring for two small children. I only lasted six months. I knew who I was: small, weak, unable.

Two years ago, I started climbing at a local gym once a week with a friend. Climbing requires strategy and technique, but it also requires strength. Still, I'd doubt myself. I had to fight the sense that I looked silly, a middle-aged woman floundering on the wall. On one evening session, I was bemoaning my lack of ability on a certain route. "I'm just not strong," I said. My partner turned to me and said simply, "You are strong."

It was the first time someone told me that. And for the first time, I let myself believe that maybe it was true.

In the last two years, I've sent challenging 11-rated routes in the gym. I've climbed in Red River Gorge. I've completed a week-long backpacking trip though Yellowstone Park. I've hiked fifty miles of the West Highland Way in Scotland. Something has changed in how I view myself.

Still, there are days when I have my doubts. I'm still frustrated by a body that betrays my age and motherhood, regardless of what activities I do. So I try to embrace days like yesterday. Days when I feel strong.