I spent the first two weeks of 2021 in bed, sick with the coronavirus. Before getting sick I was sure that if I ever contracted the virus I would have only mild symptoms and bounce back quickly. I was, after all, healthy. I eat a whole food diet, exercise regularly and am careful about getting enough sleep. This wasn’t the case. It knocked me out. Even after being in bed I was extremely fatigued, kept battling headaches, and my lungs burned even after just walking up the stairs. I didn’t have the energy to even cook for my family much less head out for a run.

It was weeks after that I attempted the first workout. I felt tired at a pace that usually feels easy. My muscles ached after lifting very light weights. My brain started running away from me. I started feeling this rush to return to fitness. I started feeling like I was in this big hurry to lose the couple of pounds that I had put on while trying to get better. 

Wait. I know better. I understand that fitness takes time. I know that the answer is to be patient with myself and congratulate myself for having successfully fought off the virus. But I still found myself feeling impatient.

When I really uncovered the thought, I realized that I was telling myself that I would feel better once I was back up to my usual mileage and back down to the weight I wanted to be. But that’s just not true. The same feelings are available to me right now. I can be proud of myself and love myself exactly as I am right now. When I really believed that thought, a settling idea came to me, “What’s the rush?” I have all the time I need to rebuild my fitness, being gentle and patient along the way. I can lose the weight I’ve put on. Or I don’t have to. Either way I am loveable and wonderful.

I am much more likely to make wise, lasting changes in my life if I’m not in a hurry.