On Returning to the Gym at Age 40 for the First Time Since Having Kids

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with my headphones in and no one asking me for anything.When I got to the workout class, I was surprised to see that I was the youngest person in the room by a few decades. I spread out my yoga mat and got ready to exercise. As I looked around, I saw my future self, or at least the future self I hope to become: an older woman who is still getting stronger.Before we got married, my husband I used to go to the gym together. In fact, our gym dates were one of the reasons I fell in love with him — not just for his muscular physique but for the history and character qualities behind it.I remember how he used to spell the names of people he loved when trying to get himself to do a few more reps of a heavy lift. Instead of counting to 6, he’d spell his dad’s name, M-I-N-H D-O. In summoning strength to push himself a little harder, he looked to his memories of his dad, who immigrated from Vietnam at age 18, faced unemployment many times but always learned new skills, who got up at 3 AM to go to work, and then came home and cooked dinner for the family. I realized that in lifting weights, Tom was aligning himself with his history, drawing upon his dad’s memory to summon the strength to face the difficulties in his own life.Back then, I remember being surprised at how unabashedly proud Tom was of his body. When Tom glimpsed himself in the mirror, he’d flex and smile. He’d tell me, “I love my body.” I don’t think I’d ever heard anyone say this, especially not in the self-effacing Midwest where I grew up. At first, it struck me as cocky, but I realized that he’d worked hard to be the best version of himself that he could be. With time, I also saw that his pride in himself was a form of defiance against a world that sought to limit him with stereotypes about who he was as an Asian man. He wasn’t waiting for anyone else to tell him who he was: he already knew.Watching Tom lift weights with incredible focus, strength, self-awareness, and control taught me a lot about who is he and helped me realize why I love him. It was at the gym that I began to understand where he draws his strength from and why he carries himself in the world the way he does. Watching him size himself up with approval gave me permission to love myself, too.This yea

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r, Tom decided to go back to the gym after several years away. He’d gone through a job termination and two years of working part time and taking care of our kids. He’d written an award-winning academic article that had opened doors for him to get a job back at his alma mater, Cal State University Long Beach. We’d gone through an arduous cross-country move, and started our lives over at age 40.At first, he joined in hopes of releasing some of the stress he felt from his many responsibilities at work and with the family. I considered joining, but wasn’t sure I wanted to spare my precious childfree time at the gym.Finally, we made the decision to join as a family so that we could take the kids to the gym’s childcare center while we worked out. This made it possible for me to go during the week, and, for the first time since we had kids, it made it possible for us to work out together again.Being back at the gym was not only a rediscovery of myself, but a rediscovery of my husband and me as a couple. When I looked in the mirrors those first few times, I was surprised to see us here together again, older but much stronger than we were the last time we worked out together. United by grit, commitment, and an ability to push each other in daily life, the gym somehow puts all these qualities into focus for us. It also takes us back, letting us laugh together and commiserate in the smaller struggles of completing a few more reps, lifting a little bit more weight, or fantasizing about a cookie when the workout is over.Now, when I want to get myself to do a few more reps, I spell my daughter’s name: E-V-A D-O, and thank God that we didn’t give her a longer name. When my energy is flagging, Tom reminds me, “do it for the kids,” and I find strength to push myself a little harder, just as I remember him doing years ago. Tom has taught me that uniting your effort to the thought of those you love endues you with special strength.Looking in all those mirrors has reflected my life back to me at age 40. I may not be as young and fit as some of the women at the gym, but I don’t care at this point. I see myself and my husband in the mirror, and I glimpse our histories, present struggles, and future dreams reflected back through our bodies.</article></body>

Connecting with past, present, and future versions of my body

Seeing myself over and over in the gym mirrors that first day back at the gym, it was as if my body had suddenly reappeared after vanishing for some time. The mirrors were everywhere, from floor to ceiling, and reflected in them was a stranger who is me. We don’t have any full-length mirrors at home, and I hadn’t really given my body too much thought in a while. Taking care of two small children has kept me so busy that I’m happy if I have time to pull my hair back into a ponytail most days.

I saw my forty-year old face, skinnier, a bit more lined, and more tanned than I remembered, the California sun already aging me.

I saw my body and, surprisingly, I liked what I saw. In the past five years, I’ve had two children and spent roughly three years breastfeeding. My body has changed sizes so many times that I wasn’t really sure of its shape anymore. Overall, I recognized the body I’ve always, ready to take on whatever challenge, from a c-section, to an all-night vigil with a sick child, to a 10K.

Being happy with myself surprised me. I’ve been appraising myself in mirrors since I was a small child. Maybe one gift of reaching midlife is the ability to see myself and recognize both the ways in which I’ve aged and the ways in which I’ve remained young, and appreciate both.

Now that I’d reunited with my body, I remember thinking: wow, I need a haircut, a pair of properly fitting glasses, and one or two outfits that aren’t jeans and sweatshirts. Perhaps among the many gifts of parenting is the ability to forget yourself, and also the ability to come back to yourself a bit more loving than before.

On Sunday morning, I took the bus all by myself to the gym for an early morning workout class. It felt so good to sit in the back of the bus with my headphones in and no one asking me for anything.

When I got to the workout class, I was surprised to see that I was the youngest person in the room by a few decades. I spread out my yoga mat and got ready to exercise. As I looked around, I saw my future self, or at least the future self I hope to become: an older woman who is still getting stronger.

Before we got married, my husband I used to go to the gym together. In fact, our gym dates were one of the reasons I fell in love with him — not just for his muscular physique but for the history and character qualities behind it.

I remember how he used to spell the names of people he loved when trying to get himself to do a few more reps of a heavy lift. Instead of counting to 6, he’d spell his dad’s name, M-I-N-H D-O. In summoning strength to push himself a little harder, he looked to his memories of his dad, who immigrated from Vietnam at age 18, faced unemployment many times but always learned new skills, who got up at 3 AM to go to work, and then came home and cooked dinner for the family. I realized that in lifting weights, Tom was aligning himself with his history, drawing upon his dad’s memory to summon the strength to face the difficulties in his own life.

Back then, I remember being surprised at how unabashedly proud Tom was of his body. When Tom glimpsed himself in the mirror, he’d flex and smile. He’d tell me, “I love my body.” I don’t think I’d ever heard anyone say this, especially not in the self-effacing Midwest where I grew up. At first, it struck me as cocky, but I realized that he’d worked hard to be the best version of himself that he could be. With time, I also saw that his pride in himself was a form of defiance against a world that sought to limit him with stereotypes about who he was as an Asian man. He wasn’t waiting for anyone else to tell him who he was: he already knew.

Watching Tom lift weights with incredible focus, strength, self-awareness, and control taught me a lot about who is he and helped me realize why I love him. It was at the gym that I began to understand where he draws his strength from and why he carries himself in the world the way he does. Watching him size himself up with approval gave me permission to love myself, too.

This year, Tom decided to go back to the gym after several years away. He’d gone through a job termination and two years of working part time and taking care of our kids. He’d written an award-winning academic article that had opened doors for him to get a job back at his alma mater, Cal State University Long Beach. We’d gone through an arduous cross-country move, and started our lives over at age 40.

At first, he joined in hopes of releasing some of the stress he felt from his many responsibilities at work and with the family. I considered joining, but wasn’t sure I wanted to spare my precious childfree time at the gym.

Finally, we made the decision to join as a family so that we could take the kids to the gym’s childcare center while we worked out. This made it possible for me to go during the week, and, for the first time since we had kids, it made it possible for us to work out together again.

Being back at the gym was not only a rediscovery of myself, but a rediscovery of my husband and me as a couple. When I looked in the mirrors those first few times, I was surprised to see us here together again, older but much stronger than we were the last time we worked out together. United by grit, commitment, and an ability to push each other in daily life, the gym somehow puts all these qualities into focus for us. It also takes us back, letting us laugh together and commiserate in the smaller struggles of completing a few more reps, lifting a little bit more weight, or fantasizing about a cookie when the workout is over.

Now, when I want to get myself to do a few more reps, I spell my daughter’s name: E-V-A D-O, and thank God that we didn’t give her a longer name. When my energy is flagging, Tom reminds me, “do it for the kids,” and I find strength to push myself a little harder, just as I remember him doing years ago. Tom has taught me that uniting your effort to the thought of those you love endues you with special strength.

Looking in all those mirrors has reflected my life back to me at age 40. I may not be as young and fit as some of the women at the gym, but I don’t care at this point. I see myself and my husband in the mirror, and I glimpse our histories, present struggles, and future dreams reflected back through our bodies.