A couple of weeks into Max’s program and I stopped feeling tired all the time. That sick fatigue feeling started to fade away. To my delight, those improvements translated to my work as well. I felt good, felt healthy and confidence was through the roof.
I don’t know for sure when the depression took hold of me. All I know was that when it did, I surrendered to it. As was common in my family, the only therapy I sought was unhealthy foods and a sedentary lifestyle.
I really thought I had tried it all. Diets? Tried ‘em. Paleo, keto, atkins, WW, grapefruit… you name it. Workouts? I flopped through couch to 5k, got dragged to P90X…I tried everything. Nothing seemed to stick. I just couldn’t figure out how to commit to a fitness routine.
Not only did I want to look better, I wanted to feel better. I wanted to prove to myself, once and for all, that I could show up for myself and for others. I needed to make a change.
The alarm didn’t go off in my head until one afternoon, I was playing with my dogs, rolling around on the floor, wrestling with them. When I tried to get up I was worried that I couldn’t.
I could only assume it was all that accumulated stress I put on my body that went unnoticed since I continued to punish it. It wasn’t until I sat on the couch all day, almost every day, for my unborn baby’s sake, that I got smacked in the face by the consequences of my chosen profession.
It started in my thirties. I started to notice it took me a bit longer to recover from workouts. If I spent the morning or evening surfing, the afternoon or night was filled with sore muscles and an aching back... My body was starting to feel the accumulated stress I put it through.
Feeling bleh every day after work? No energy to do anything but flip on Love Island? Girl, same! I was right there with you. Hey y’all, I’m Becca, and I’m here to tell you how I finally kicked exhaustion to the curb for good.
I was at a low point. All of my life, I considered myself fit and active. The idea of a long hike or an evening bike ride only filled me with excitement, not dread. But time and health robbed me of these simple joys I used to share with my spouse.
So, a little background on me. My name is Yasmin, and I've struggled with my weight my entire life. It started when I was a kid. My family owned a BBQ joint just outside Nashville. So I always had access to delicious freshly cooked food. Unfortunately, like lots of items on a standard Southern BBQ menu, not much of that food was healthy. But that's what my dietary foundation was based on.
Only a couple of steps up my building's stairwells, I was completely out of breath. It was a feeling I wasn't used to. In many ways, it was alarming. Would I have to do what I was determined never to do? Would I have to join a gym? New York was infested with hip, trendy gyms for young professionals and the old and out of shape. I passed them daily. They were unavoidable.
It was difficult for me, explaining to my confused and disappointed kids that Dad was too out of shape to keep going. It was even harder making peace with that myself. So I decided not to accept it. Next time we went, when we returned, I'd not only be able to keep up with my children, but I would be able to ride every attraction with them.
But it wasn’t until my baby boy Tom was actually placed into my arms that I had my “Oh sh*t” moment and it all came together...I was a dad. I realized I was responsible for this little man, and that I didn’t want to miss a single moment of this whole experience.
“Daddy! Hurry up! Hurry up!” Those words punched me in the gut. There I was, barely 31, out of breath in my own backyard. The culprit? Playing soccer with my 4-year old daughter. How was it that my girl went from barely crawling on the floor to schooling me with a soccer ball? She’d kick the ball, we’d race after it, and I’d be winded after ten seconds.
Injured in the crash, my back and left arm had plates and screws in them. Being in the medically induced coma had caused my muscles to atrophy and weaken. Something as trivial as holding a bag of groceries became near impossible as my strength would just give out.
One day, with some of my family members over for a BBQ, I wanted to pick our son up out of his romper, lift him up and spin him around. My partner had done it before, plenty of times. I wanted to show off our child's infectious laughter that always came from this little kid version of a thrill ride. When I bent over to pick him up, I felt a sharp pain in my shoulders and back. As bad as I wanted to, I couldn't even lift him up above waist level. Embarrassed, hoping that no one saw, I gently put him back down.
Growing up, I didn’t know that when my mom stopped going down to the basement it was because she couldn’t anymore. One day she told me and my brother that we had to start learning how to do our own laundry and that was it, we never questioned her reason. Mother had spoken, we were old enough to do it ourselves. It wasn’t until I moved away for college that I realized her true reasoning: she was avoiding staircases.