my body keeps the score / #9
on breathing, and being a beginner
“Will you still go to the gym when you're 90?” my nephew asked cheekily; a question in a long string of other “will you still…”s that he was rattling off.
For most of my life, my body and I have a… well, let’s call it a complicated relationship.
It’s not fast, nor the first one picked for team sports (quite usually the last pick, if we’re honest), or strong.
It’s been labeled plenty: soft, plump, big-sized, and has also gone through a bout of different diagnoses:
The childhood asthma that’s led to a general neglect in developing my cardio health
The hyperflexion of my joints that’s led to multiple spinal injuries, like fractures in the spiky parts of my spine, which have caused a lower back vertebrae to shift out of alignment.
(Spondylolysis and spondylolisthesis — big words I’ve come to know all too well over the years.)
Anyway, all this to say that this body has been a source of frustration, of pain, and of (self-imposed?) limitations. It has a back that flares up, lungs that can’t keep up, and a weight that remains despite decade-long efforts.
But: it has also carried me through every experience I’ve had.
Last year marked a turning point, though I didn’t recognize it at the time: I lost 12.5% of myself.
(Whoo, dramatic.)
But yes, 12.5% from January 2023; a neat percentage of what I used to be.
I never hit the perfect 500-calorie deficit like every expert said to. I certainly wasn’t strict with what I ate (hello, bubble tea and lots of desserts). Honestly, I just consumed a lot of protein.
The weight left gradually, like the toilet paper effect (you know, how you don't notice the roll getting smaller day by day until suddenly it's almost gone).
No sudden epiphany, until just like that, one-eighth of me had quietly disappeared.
As the weight dropped, I expected movement to feel easier, and in some ways, it did. But then, as quickly as that happened, my lungs would remind me of their limits.
As a kid, I had asthma.
I remember sitting in a clinic, a nebulizer strapped to my face, trying to coax my lungs into functioning.
I remember PE classes where we had to run in circles, my face turning an alarming shade of scarlet as my breath wheezed out in ragged gasps.
I remember teachers stoping me from partaking, just in case I keeled over and died (I assume).
I remember kids not wanting me to be on their team to play, during recess.
So, I did the only clear logical thing: I stopped trying.
No running → no failing
If I avoided anything physical, no one could comment on my struggles.
The consequence was just this:
Long after the diagnosis and treatments, I used asthma as a crutch to get out of school fitness tests, runs, and anything else that would leave me gasping for air.
And so, recently: A simple hike with friends left me wheezing, needing to make pit stops every few minutes, feeling like my body was actively protesting my existence.
Monkeys in the distance looked like they were debating whether to steal my water bottle, or just wait for me to collapse and claim me as their own.
I had spent all this time improving my body composition, getting stronger, moving better — and yet a mild incline still made me question my life choices.
This time, instead of retreating to my cozy excuse, I decided to fix the situation.
I started walking.
Then, I started jogging. Very slowly.
I set a goal at the start of the year: pass the NAPFA (Singapore’s National Physical Fitness Award, a standardized assessment for primary and secondary school kids), at the standards of a 12-year-old girl.
Last week, I managed to run a mile/1.6km in just under 13 minutes. It's a pace that most runners would consider a light warm-up. But for me? It's fucking hard work.
My entire body felt haggard and weak, the sweat dripping from my slightly-too-long hair, but I felt a strange pride I’d never experienced before.
Certainly not because I was fast, but because I was getting somewhere.
Still concerned about my breathing struggles, I brought it up to my doctor, mentioning that my heart rate still spikes into the danger zone at a speed most people would call a leisurely jog.
I showed her my Garmin app, with the V̇O2 max (or: how efficient your body uses oxygen during exercise) comparison chart suggesting that I have the lung capacity of a 79-year-old.
Now, sure, fitness trackers aren't the most precise tools, but when the trend line only ever went down, it's hard to argue.
I wrapped it up by saying that I used to have childhood asthma, but don’t remember any incidents after I was 8, so I don’t have asthma anymore, and would like to know why I’m still struggling to exert while running.
She looked a little apologetic.
Ah.
Turns out, I never outgrew asthma, and it’d just laid in wait, activating when induced by exercise.
I’d just structured my life by avoiding cardio altogether, sidestepping any reveals of the condition before now.
Now, I've got an inhaler, with a steroid mix that might, hope willing, let me run without feeling like my lungs are staging a coup.
If it works, maybe I'll shave some time off my mile, and beat some energetic 12 year-old while I’m at it.
If not… hopefully I'll breathe slightly better while continuing to shuffle forward.
Either way, I don't want to stop trying.
I’ve never passed the NAPFA test as a student. I never thought of myself as someone who could run. I don't know if I'll ever be fast or efficient, or if I’ll take to running the way people love it.
But for the first time in my life, I'm not using my body's limitations as an excuse. I'm trying, even if I fail; even if my pace is embarrassing; even if every step still feels like an argument between my willpower and my lungs.
So, when my nephew asked me if I'd still be going to the gym when I'm 90, I told him the plain truth.
“I hope so.”
Because I finally understand that my body, flawed as it is, is something I can work with, and not something I have to fight.
And if I'm lucky, I'll still be moving, still breathing, still trying — one step at a time.
Other things
Going to Hokkaido tomorrow after 6.5+ hours of teaching, for a quick and super impromptu ski trip — keeping fingers crossed for a good, restful flight there; decent snow; a lot of fun!
I’m still doing a lot of revenge bedtime procrastination for reasons I don’t even comprehend right now, so maybe I’ll have to unpack it when I come back
everything is fine dog here for whatever the political situation is, and what it’s doing to the economy and my portfolio 😬
Until next time,
J
I love this! Well done on continuing to challenge your body to go places it's never gone before. I have been a runner for years and it has honestly been my salvation through every difficult life stage or work challenge.