Four Times a Day I Remember I Have a Body

Fitness, Aging, Movement, and the Art of Keeping the Machinery Running

What is left to say about fitness that hasn't already been said? How many more articles can we read about tightening our abs, getting rid of cellulite, building bigger arms, losing belly fat, or achieving the perfect body?

Those articles have their place. Some are brilliant, some are ridiculous, and some fall somewhere in between. But at least we're paying attention to the human body, trying to understand how it works and what we can do to keep it functioning.

I have no idea where my own ideas fit into the enormous collection of fitness advice circulating in the world. I'm not claiming to have discovered a revolutionary exercise program. What I do have is a lifetime of personal experience, and I've learned a few things about movement that have become increasingly important to me as I get older.

I don't think of fitness as something that happens exclusively in a gym, yoga studio, or boxing ring. I think of it as a relationship with my body that continues throughout the day.

I've divided that relationship into four phases. Each serves a different purpose, and together they help me maintain strength, mobility, awareness, and a sense of connection to my physical self.

The remarkable thing is that none of this has to be particularly complicated.

Phase One: Waking Up the Machinery

The first phase begins when I wake up in the morning.

At six o'clock, I have absolutely no interest in ripping the door handles off my shoulders, so to speak. I'm not interested in jumping out of bed and immediately performing explosive movements, sprinting, or attempting anything that requires my body to be fully warmed up.

My body has been lying relatively still for several hours. My joints may feel stiff, my muscles haven't been particularly active, and my nervous system is making the transition from sleep into wakefulness.

Why would I immediately demand maximum performance from it?

Instead, I begin gently.

I think this is especially important as we get older, although the principle applies to people of almost any age. We want to develop movement habits that we can carry with us into our seventies, eighties, nineties, and perhaps beyond.

The objective isn't to prove how strong we are at six in the morning. It's to establish a lifelong relationship with movement that doesn't require extraordinary willpower or physical punishment.

The Bridge: A Small Movement With a Big Job

The first thing I do is lie on my back with my knees bent and my feet flat on the floor.

I gently raise my hips into a bridge position and lower them again. I repeat that five or six times, simply feeling how my body responds.

Then I might perform another thirty repetitions, lifting and lowering my hips in a controlled manner. Sometimes I add small hip movements or rotations to explore how my lower back and pelvis feel.

This doesn't take very long.

What I like about the bridge is that it begins waking up several important muscle groups. I can feel my glutes engaging, my hamstrings contributing, and the muscles around my lower back beginning to participate in movement.

I'm not trying to set a record. I'm trying to establish communication with muscles that are going to be responsible for supporting me throughout the day.

And I breathe.

This is perhaps the most important part of the entire routine.

I take slow, comfortable inhalations and relaxed exhalations. I try not to hold my breath or unnecessarily tense my face, jaw, or shoulders.

The movement gives my mind something physical to focus on, and the breathing helps me begin the day without immediately throwing myself into a state of urgency.

Waking Up the Abdominals

From there, I bring my knees up so that my thighs are approximately perpendicular to the floor, with my knees bent at ninety degrees.

I might perform a few gentle abdominal crunches, paying attention to how my neck, lower back, and abdominal muscles feel.

Here's something I think deserves more attention: abdominal exercises aren't useful only because they might make your stomach look better.

The abdominal muscles are part of the system that supports your trunk, stabilizes movement, and helps manage forces acting on the spine.

As I've gotten older, I've become increasingly interested in activating these muscles rather than merely exhausting them.

A few gentle crunches in the morning won't magically sculpt your abdomen. But they can help you develop awareness of muscles that play an important role in everyday movement.

From there, I may extend my legs alternately, almost as though I'm slowly pedaling a bicycle or performing a running motion while lying on my back.

I pay attention to my hip flexors, my abdominal muscles, and the position of my pelvis.

Sometimes I place my hands on different parts of my abdomen so I can feel which muscles are contracting.

This is something I find fascinating.

Most people know how to tighten their stomach by pulling in their navel, but how many of us consciously explore the different ways our abdominal muscles can engage?

Can I gently brace my abdomen without holding my breath? Can I feel the muscles at the sides of my waist? Can I move one leg without allowing my lower back to shift excessively?

These are small experiments in body awareness.

The point isn't to obsess over every contraction. It's to learn how to pay attention.

The more familiar I become with my body, the easier it becomes to recognize tension, unnecessary effort, and movements that don't feel particularly good.

Gentle Strength Before Breakfast

Next, I turn over and perform about ten push-ups.

But here's the catch: my knees are on the floor.

I don't need every push-up to require one hundred percent of my strength. I'm not preparing for a competition at this hour.

I want to activate my chest, shoulders, arms, and trunk without demanding an extraordinary amount of effort.

Then I might lie on my stomach and extend my arms overhead, reaching forward through my fingertips and backward through my toes.

I imagine my body gently lengthening in opposite directions.

I breathe and enjoy the sensation of extending my spine and opening up the front of my body.

Sometimes I'll add small, controlled fluttering movements with my arms or legs. Nothing frantic, and nothing that forces my lower back into an uncomfortable position.

Depending on how I feel, I may continue with three sets of ten squats, a few short planks, some biceps curls with my twenty-pound dumbbells, or several shoulder presses.

I don't necessarily do all these exercises every morning.

That's important.

This isn't a military checklist. It's a collection of movements from which I choose according to how my body feels.

Some mornings I do more. Some mornings I do less.

I also don't believe that every workout needs to be identical. Repetition helps build skill and strength, but variety can keep movement interesting and engage the body in different ways.

The underlying principle remains the same: I start slowly, build gradually, and pay attention to how I'm breathing.

Usually, about ten minutes into this process, something interesting happens.

I feel the urge to use the bathroom.

Perhaps one of the less glamorous rewards of moving early in the morning is that it can help stimulate normal digestive activity.

Nobody is going to put that on the cover of a fitness magazine, but it's a practical benefit worth appreciating.

By this point, my body feels more awake, my muscles have done a little work, my breathing feels settled, and my mind has had an opportunity to focus on something other than the demands of the coming day.

Now I'm ready to begin.

Phase Two: Movement Is How I Travel Through Life

The second phase of fitness has nothing to do with a formal workout.

It's how I move through the world.

Walking, climbing stairs, bending down, carrying things, standing, getting up from a chair, reaching overhead, and moving around during the workday are all opportunities to keep the body active.

We have developed an extraordinary number of conveniences that allow us to avoid physical movement.

Elevators, escalators, cars, delivery services, remote controls, electric everything.

Convenience is wonderful, but the body still needs movement.

I try to remind myself that physical fitness isn't restricted to the hour when I'm wearing exercise clothes.

If I'm walking somewhere, I can pay attention to my posture, my breathing, my pace, and whether I'm carrying unnecessary tension.

If I've been sitting too long, I can stand up and move around.

If I've been standing for hours, I can change positions, stretch gently, or sit and rest.

Working in retail has taught me that being on my feet all day is not necessarily the same thing as exercising intelligently. You can spend an entire day moving around and still develop stiffness, fatigue, or poor movement habits.

The trick is to become conscious of what the body needs rather than treating it as a machine that should simply obey.

I think this phase is particularly important for people who have trouble finding time to exercise.

Not every form of movement has to be scheduled, measured, or converted into a fitness achievement.

Sometimes walking is simply walking.

And that's enough to make it worthwhile.

Phase Three: The Main Event

The third phase is what most people traditionally think of as exercise.

This is where I decide whether I'm going to practice yoga, do boxing drills, lift weights, work on mobility, or engage in some other deliberate physical activity.

Some days I feel strong and energetic.

Other days I'm tired, sore, distracted, or simply not interested in pushing myself.

The question isn't always, How hard can I train today?

Sometimes the better question is, What does my body need today?

There are days when a vigorous workout feels wonderful. There are days when a yoga practice is exactly what I need. There are also days when resting is the intelligent decision.

I've spent enough time doing demanding physical activities to understand that intensity has its place. I've also learned that intensity isn't the same thing as wisdom.

In my younger years, I often measured physical performance by how much I could endure.

How hard could I train? How far could I push? How much discomfort could I tolerate?

There's value in developing discipline and resilience, but those qualities don't require us to ignore the signals our bodies are sending.

As we age, recovery becomes an increasingly important consideration.

I want to maintain strength, flexibility, cardiovascular fitness, balance, and coordination. I want my joints to function well. I want to be able to get down on the floor and get back up without turning it into a major event.

I want to remain capable.

But I don't want exercise to become another source of chronic anxiety, self-criticism, or unnecessary suffering.

I believe it's possible to train seriously while also maintaining a relaxed relationship with the process.

There is a difference between working hard and being at war with your body.

Phase Four: Closing the Day

The fourth phase takes place before bed.

This is the bookend to the gentle movement routine I began in the morning.

I don't want to end every day by collapsing into bed with my mind still racing through unfinished tasks, business problems, conversations, responsibilities, and tomorrow's obligations.

I'd rather create a small transition between the activity of the day and the stillness of sleep.

Sometimes I spend a few minutes doing gentle stretches or simple movements on the floor.

Maybe I'll bring my knees toward my chest, move my hips slowly, stretch my legs, or loosen the tension in my shoulders.

Nothing particularly strenuous.

I'm not trying to become more fit during these few minutes. I'm trying to let go of some of the physical and mental activity I've accumulated.

Then I turn my attention toward my breathing.

Slow inhalations, comfortable exhalations, and a conscious effort to relax the muscles of my face, jaw, shoulders, and abdomen.

This is also when I reflect on the day.

What went well? Where did I become unnecessarily anxious? Was I kind to the people around me? Did I make mistakes that I need to correct? Is there something I can appreciate that I may have overlooked?

I try to practice gratitude.

Sometimes I engage in my own form of what I jokingly call atheist prayer.

I'm not appealing to a supernatural being. I'm simply taking a moment to acknowledge the extraordinary privilege of being alive, to wish good things for other people, and to remind myself that life is much bigger than whatever problems were occupying my attention earlier.

For me, this is where physical movement and meditation come together.

The body becomes quieter. The mind has an opportunity to settle. And I can move toward sleep without feeling that I need to solve every problem before closing my eyes.

Fitness Is Not Just About Looking Fit

One of the problems with the fitness industry is that it often places too much emphasis on appearance.

We become preoccupied with visible abdominal muscles, body fat percentages, muscle size, skin texture, and the countless ways our bodies fail to match whatever ideal is currently being advertised.

I understand the appeal.

There's nothing wrong with wanting to look good. I like looking good, too.

But appearance is only one small part of what physical fitness can offer.

What about getting out of bed without feeling stiff? Carrying groceries without discomfort? Walking several miles? Climbing stairs? Playing with children? Maintaining balance? Recovering from physical effort? Being able to participate in the activities that give your life pleasure?

What about the relationship between movement and emotional regulation?

Physical activity can influence mood, sleep, stress, and general well-being. It gives us an opportunity to experience ourselves as something more than a collection of thoughts.

When I'm caught up in anxious thinking, my attention can become completely absorbed in narratives about the past or future.

Movement can interrupt that process.

I become aware of my feet, my hips, my breath, my balance, or the muscles contracting in my abdomen.

My attention returns to something happening right now.

That doesn't mean exercise cures anxiety. It means movement can be one useful part of learning how to regulate ourselves.

And that, to me, is a far more interesting subject than getting rid of cellulite.

Building a Body You Can Live In

If there is one central idea behind these four phases, it's that fitness should become part of how we live, not something separate from life.

We wake up and gently activate the body.

We move consciously as we travel through the day.

We create opportunities for more deliberate physical exercise.

And we close the day with relaxation, reflection, and gratitude.

There is no requirement that every phase be perfect.

There will be days when I skip my morning movements, don't get enough walking done, miss my planned workout, or fall asleep without doing anything particularly mindful.

That's life.

I don't think we should turn healthy habits into another opportunity to criticize ourselves.

Instead, we practice returning to them.

Over time, small actions repeated consistently can become part of our identity.

We become people who move, who notice, who breathe, who understand that the body requires care.

When I think about growing older, I don't imagine that the goal should be to preserve the exact body I had when I was twenty-five or thirty-five.

That would be a ridiculous assignment.

The goal is to keep developing a relationship with the body I actually have, at the age I actually am.

I want to keep learning its capabilities and limitations. I want to challenge it when appropriate, protect it when necessary, and avoid becoming so attached to performance that I forget to enjoy movement itself.

The body will change. Strength will change. Flexibility will change. Eventually, the things that are easy today may require more effort.

But perhaps the practice of paying attention can continue through every stage.

And if I make it into my nineties, I'd love to still be waking up, lying on my back, raising my hips into a little bridge, taking a few comfortable breaths, and appreciating the fact that the machinery is still running.

That sounds like a pretty good fitness goal to me.