I was 36 when I stopped tracking calories and started to rely on how I feel and my nutritional knowledge to fuel lifting and running.

I was 36 when I stopped experiencing running as a worthy slog and started hitting a joyful flow state.

I was 36 when I stopped mindlessly buying clothes and started to play with what I have in more creative ways.

I was 36 when I stopped dreading work and started enjoying my brain again.

I was 36 when I stopped forcing my body’s abilities and started to connect with individual muscles for better safety and strength.

I was 36 when I stopped dying my hair with poison and started using henna to let my greys grow out as glowing copper tinsel.

I was 36 when I stopped scolding myself out loud (“stupid bitch”) and started to reassure myself instead (“you’re not stupid, you were just busy and distracted”).

I was 36 when I stopped ruining my face by picking at every imagined blemish – one month so far.

I was 36 when I stopped saying I can’t swim and started spending more time in the sea, gaining confidence.

Now I’m 37, looking at a vision of the future that’s bathed in a peaceful, golden light. 36-year-old me really put in the work.