Think of something you’re grateful for.

I’m not quite sure exactly how it happened, but apparently 2017 has become the year of Nutty Quits Being A Doughy Weakling And Goes All GI Jane On Fitness.

Okay, so that doughy weakling bit may be a bit unfair. I mean, it’s not like I’ve spent the last several years sitting around on my duff twiddling my thumbs instead of exercising. I’ve always done my best to keep active, occasional brief lapses aside.

That said, after the past several months I’m finding that what I would have considered a challenging workout back in January I can now only describe as laughable.

It all kind of started with nuts. Appropriate, I know.

Following my last dismissive walk-in clinic experience that resulted in, surprise surprise, no results, I did exactly what you’re not supposed to do and turned to good old Doctor Google for advice. Long story short, I began supplementing my diet with Brazil nuts because the selenium is supposed to hand-hold my stupid thyroid hormones and help them do their thing.

And holy shit, guys, IT’S ACTUALLY WORKING.

I mean, mornings are still the worst. Stress still aggravates my symptoms something fierce. I’m certainly not “cured” by any means, and don’t have any illusions that I ever will be. But I’m also not freezing cold all the time anymore, and more importantly, my muscles are no longer giving up on me well before my workout sessions have a chance to do me any real good.

I’ve gotten back just enough of the old Nutty to give me hope.

And I’m taking advantage of it. Every bit. In case it doesn’t last. In case something else gives out, like it always seems to. Knowing my luck, I’ll develop a selenium allergy and then we’ll be back at square one.

So in the meantime, I push. I push and I work and I sweat and I kick my own ass while I still can, and I’ll be goddamned if I’m not finally getting some results.

For the first time in a long time, I find myself instinctively coming up with more reasons to get my body moving than excuses not to.

It’s fucking fantastic.

I’ve started going to power yoga again. My crazy (in the best possible way) teacher likes to talk us through challenging poses by having us think of something we’re thankful for. In my first few weeks of class I considered all manner of things to whisk my mind away during these short moments of reflection; the wealth of natural beauty at my city’s doorstep; my love for Nutty Hubby; the simple enjoyment of a deep gulp of cool, thirst-quenching water…dear god I’d give my left fucking tit for some water right now…

Packed classes + relentless vinyasas = intense collective body heat = Nutty rehydrates a lot.

Me during Warrior III, every single time.

But then something shifted. I remember the exact day I noticed. I recall being smugly pleased with myself for having made it up into a handstand for two whole seconds, besting my previous record by…two whole seconds, probably. And as we moved on into my nemesis, Chair Pose, for once I didn’t automatically try to escape from the experience. I kept my breath slow and steady. I sank deeper into my leg muscles, relaxed my shoulders, and really goddamn went for it. I was the chair. Not a chair with a rickety leg or a loose seat or a missing rail. Just a regular ol’ chair, fuckin’ chairin’ it up.

“We’re going to be here a while,” came the soft voice of our teacher.
“Breathe. Think of something you’re grateful for.”

It came to me, unbidden.

I am grateful for this. Because right now, in this moment, I don’t feel broken.

And I started to cry, because it was true.
I never thought it would be true again.

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