I just got back from a pilates class. My doctor recommended it to help with my muscle soreness, but it has taken me an additional week to work up the motivation to get to a class. When I get out of the habit of going to the gym, it seems to be an insurmountable task: the gym is so far away. A class does not fit into my plans for today. I don’t have the energy.

I don’t have the energy. That’s the easiest, truest, most frequent excuse. Even on days I’m feeling pretty well, my fatigue is always creeping in around the edges. My energy is always unpredictable, ready to bottom out at any minute. I can’t commit to something, because what if my fatigue says no?

Today, I harnessed my guilt for results. I know that I need to use my body or it will disintegrate into a jumble of sore joints and inflammation. The doctor suggested exercise as a specific answer to my problem: tight, painful leg muscles. Using what hurts helps them to hurt less. It’s illogical, but just might work.

My body isn’t able to do everything it used to, and I am beginning to accept this disappointing reality. But it can still do a lot, and I’m determined not to take it for granted. The more I do to take care of my physical health, the longer I can hold onto what I still have.

Today’s pilates workout was challenging because I haven’t used my core muscles in approximately two thousand years. A woman in my class, who is easily twenty-five years older than me, was able to do the moves with fluid ease. Meanwhile, my exercise ball rolled away while I was using it.

But I went, and broke my streak of not exercising. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. The gym wasn’t as far away as it felt. I’m proud of myself for prioritizing my physical health. I did something. And that is enough for today.