For the past three years, I’ve been stuck in the same loop: “I really should start going to the gym again.” It’s a phrase I’ve repeated so often that it’s become part of my daily mental soundtrack — right up there with “Did I remember to pack the baby’s snacks?” and “When was the last time I slept through the night?”
Life after having a baby is a whirlwind of sleepless nights, endless laundry, and toddler tantrums that drain every ounce of energy I thought I had. So, working out? Forget it. The gym membership gathered dust. My running shoes sat lonely in the corner, quietly judging me.
But this past weekend, something nudged me out of my comfort zone.
My friends invited me for a hike at Jonkershoek Nature Reserve in Stellenbosch. Jonkershoek. A place I’ve hiked before — effortlessly. A place I used to know like the back of my hand.
I hesitated. Was I really ready for this? Would my body protest every step? Would I embarrass myself? The answer? Absolutely. But I went anyway.
The morning was crisp and promising. The sun filtered softly through the trees, birds chirped overhead, and for a moment, I almost forgot how out of shape I was. The trail began easy enough, a gentle incline that I used to breeze up without breaking a sweat. This time, though, my lungs burned quicker than I expected, and my legs ached like I’d run a marathon the day before.
The steep parts of the trail were brutal. It was like climbing Mount Everest — only without the cold, or the fancy climbing gear, or the Sherpa guides. Every step felt heavier than the last, and I found myself slowing down, catching my breath, wondering if I should just turn back.
But I didn’t. Because I was there, with friends who cheered me on, who reminded me why I wanted to do this in the first place: to get back to feeling like myself.
Then, about halfway through the hike, I took a simple fall. A slip on a patch of loose gravel. It was nothing dramatic — no twisted ankles, no bruises — but enough to make me pause and reassess. I felt fine immediately afterward, dusted myself off, and kept going.
What I didn’t expect was the aftermath.
The following morning, I woke up feeling like a freight train had run me over. My neck was stiff and sore, making even turning my head a challenge. Every muscle in my upper body ached as if I’d been through a wrestling match. Simple movements, looking both ways before crossing the street, reaching for my coffee cup, became exercises in patience.
That stiff neck was a harsh reminder that I was far from the fitness level I once had. But here’s the twist: instead of discouraging me, this little mishap lit a fire under me.
It was a wake-up call — a nudge telling me that it’s time to stop making excuses. To stop waiting for the “right moment” to start prioritising myself again. To lace up those running shoes, dust off the gym bag, and actually go. The ache and stiffness? They’ve become my motivation.
I’m signing up for the gym this week.
I’m doing it not because I want to climb Everest — or even Jonkershoek — without getting winded. Not because I want to look a certain way or fit into some old jeans. I’m doing it because I want to feel strong again. Because I want to have the energy to keep up with my toddler’s boundless enthusiasm. Because I want to be healthy and present, for me and for my family.
I’ll admit, it’s daunting. The first steps always are. But hiking that trail, struggling and falling and getting back up, reminded me of something important: every journey starts with that first, uncertain step.
So, here’s to climbing new mountains, one small, sweaty step at a time. And maybe next time I hike Jonkershoek, it won’t feel like Everest after all.
