Body goals

I want you to know, as I write this, my body hurts.

Today I went to Kew Gardens (I’m a member and it runs out at the end of the month) and I walked in a day what I used to walk everyday when I was well. Circa 20,000 steps.

I felt good. All the endorphins where pumping, its sunny today in the UK, a rarity and so my skin took to it with a beautiful glow. So I decided to do a bonus workout because I felt strong.

Then my knees decided to act wild with me. Creaking. I’m 30 not 90, what business do my knees have creaking??? I find it rude. Especially as I have held a number of solo dance parties where I have had knees of Meghan Thee Stallion. We’re basically the same age. (fine, give or take 4 years)

For me strong= sexy. I love feeling strong. When I did couch to 5k I was strong. I loved it.

I’m making no promises to start tomorrow on a massive gym hike. But the rudeness of my knees has been noted.

What prompted this was a conversation with someone where the person essentially gave up on their knees and other joints because of their age. (I don’t know their age, mid 30’s???) I thought, “hell no am I just going to give up on a body in 5-10 years that I need to spend the next 60-100 years in.” That, my dears, is not the will of Jesus in my life.

I should explain. My parents are from Sierra Leone and as a result I have West African arms, (think butcher’s wife arms) and genes that pre-dispose me towards obesity in middle age. If I give up at 35 I will be obese by 50 and then spend the rest of my life fighting co-morbidities. Aww hell no.

Yet when I dream of my future as a mum and a wife, I see myself as slim, far slimmer than I am now, simply because that version of me wishes to “keep it tight for the marriage” horrible phrase but at least you get the point. Being trim and pretty and able to take care of myself far better than when I was in my 20’s. Those are my body goals. Despite having had 4 children my body is stronger than ever, my husband being a very lucky man. Kinda “pick me” but its my dreams so stay the hell out of it. I become the kind of woman no man would want to leave. Beautiful, kind, gentle, intelligent, and loving. And strong. Stronger than she’s ever been. Mentally, physically, and emotionally. But this girl doesn’t need to use her strength. More and more I have been feeling the true test of strength is resistance training. Its easy to smash a bug, but to resist the urge to crush it and cradle it instead shows mental and physical strength, it’s the kind of strength I require in a husband. Not necessarily a gymbro (maybe a gymgoer?) but a guy with mental strength, and emotional strength too.

If I could also request Henry Cavil like abs and chest that would be awesome.

Remember, for me strong=sexy.

Grace and courage.

Annetta Mother Smith.