Chasing Dreams

Moving my body has become one of the ways I steady myself.

It’s physical, yes—but it reaches far beyond that.

A couple of years ago, I found myself in a season that felt heavy.

Winter felt longer than usual.
Life felt harder than it should.
There were things happening that were completely out of my control—and they were taking a toll.

Getting out of bed felt like a win.
Finding joy felt… distant.

I knew I needed something to shift.
Something I could hold onto.

And the only place I could start was with what I could control.

For me, that was movement.

As it tends to happen, something showed up at exactly the right time.

A friend of mine—someone I deeply admire—posted about a 6 a.m. bootcamp.

6 a.m.

A time to sweat.
To swear.
To just… get it done.

I recognized it for what it was.

A bit of a lifeline.

That experience became more than I expected.

Yes, I was building strength.

But I was also showing up for myself in a way I hadn’t in a long time.

And being led by someone who embodies both strength and presence made all the difference.

She didn’t let us off easy.

There were burpees. So many burpees.

No excuses.
Just keep going.

Somewhere along the way, a small group of us found each other.

We encouraged each other.
Complained together.
Laughed at ourselves.

There were days we wanted to quit.
Days we minimized what we were doing.

And then—without really noticing when it happened—something shifted.

The hard things didn’t feel quite as hard.

I didn’t love burpees… but I didn’t have to stop halfway through anymore either.

I felt stronger.

In my body.
And in my mind.

This wasn’t just about getting stronger physically.

This is where I stopped negotiating with the part of me that wanted to quit.

This was a time when life felt heavy.
Messy in ways I didn’t quite know how to name.
And I wasn’t sure I had much left to give.

But I showed up anyway.

Not because I felt strong—
but because I needed to be.

Getting out of bed.
Logging in.
Letting someone push me when I didn’t have it in me to push myself—

it became something more than just a workout.

It became a way of choosing me.

Of proving to myself that even in the quiet, harder seasons…
I could still show up.

And over time, that did something.

It made me stronger in my body, yes.

But more than that—it built a kind of trust.

The kind that says:
I’ve got me.

What started as something I had to do became something I now want to do.

Something I rely on.

These days, my movement looks simple.

I lift light weights.
I do push-ups, planks, squats, lunges.

My core – three kids, ‘peri-pause’, and a deep love of ice cream, it took focus. Enough said.

Nothing impressive.

But it’s consistent. And it’s mine.

Yoga has become something else entirely.

It grounds me.
Slows me down.
Brings me back to parts of myself I forget when life gets busy.

It reminds me to breathe.
To stay steady.
To feel rooted.

Walking—well, that one speaks for itself.

I’ve been slowly building toward the rhythm I’ll need on the Camino.
Step by step.
Pack on my back.

Still learning. Still adjusting.

I’m not walking into this thinking I’m fully prepared.

But I do feel capable.

And more than that—I trust my body in a way I didn’t before.

And I have a feeling that’s going to matter.

Out there, on the path.

More than anything else.

I’m glad you’re here.

Until next time—there’s more to come.

XO