I Started My Fitness Journey at 38 — Here’s What Surprised Me Most

I never thought I’d say this… but I started my fitness journey at 38 — and I don’t regret a single step.

What surprises me most? I fell head-over-heels in love with weight lifting.

Yes, me. The woman who once believed that lifting weights would instantly turn her into The Hulk in yoga pants. I used to nod solemnly at the treadmill, thinking cardio was the holy grail of fitness. I jogged because I thought it was the right thing to do. Healthy moms run, right?

But here’s the truth: cardio drained me. I'd finish my jogs wheezing, sweaty, and one hairpin away from total collapse. The next morning, I'd wake up as if I’d fought off a godzilla in my dreams — sore, achy, and inexplicably tired.

Then came the ankle injuries. One after another. Like clockwork. I’d finally get into a groove, and bam — sidelined for weeks. Every restart felt like climbing Everest in Crocs.

One evening, as I was nursing my latest ice pack, my husband casually said,

"Why don’t you try weight lifting instead?"

I looked at him like he’d suggested joining a circus. “Me? Lifting weights? I’ll look bulky!”

But deep down, a little voice whispered:

“What if you’ve been wrong?”

So, I gave it a try. Hesitantly. Awkwardly. I started with baby dumbbells that looked like they belonged in a toy store. I followed beginner strength workouts online and set a tiny goal: just show up. 

And then… magic.

By week four, something shifted.

I didn’t just look stronger — I felt it.

I could carry all the groceries in one trip. I could scoop up my toddler mid-meltdown and walk across the mall like a champion. Laundry baskets? No problem. My mom strength was kicking in.

But here’s the best part: I finally understood that building muscle is a journey, not a fluke. Those “bulky” physiques I feared? They take years of serious effort — and often professional help — to achieve.

What I got instead was power. Confidence. Endurance.

And honestly? Joy.

I wasn’t just getting fit. I was becoming someone who owned her time, her body, and her choices.

Not just a mom.

Not just a wife.

But a woman who finally realized she’s worth showing up for.

So no, I didn’t start at 18. Or 28. I started at 38. And that’s perfectly okay.

Because the best time to begin isn’t when you’re “young enough” or “ready.”

It’s when you finally believe that you matter too.

So if you're standing at the edge of your own transformation, wondering if it’s too late — it’s not.

Your strong-mom era can begin today.

To strength, sweat, and showing up every day —

Finding power in motherhood and muscle