I Wasn’t Okay — Until I Was. My Fitness Journey at 38

I thought I was okay.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself while pouring cereal with one hand and scrolling social media on the phone with the other.

Sure, I’d get breathless walking up a flight of stairs. My back would ache just from doing the dishes — and not even deep cleaning dishes. Just regular, non-sticky plates. And don’t get me started on how I’d collapse on the bed every night like a tragic soap opera character.

But still, I thought I was fine.

Until one day, about two years ago at the clinic, I stepped on the scale.

58 kg.

Now, for someone who’s 143 cm tall (yes, I'm officially “fun size”), that’s not just a number — it’s a wake-up call. I did what any panicked woman would do: I Googled my BMI. And there it was, in bold, judging font — Overweight.

That word hit harder than any passive-aggressive auntie comment ever could.

Suddenly, it all made sense. The fatigue. The aches. The way I couldn’t keep up with my kids at the at home. I wasn’t lazy or broken. I was simply unfit — and unhappy.

That day, I made a silent promise.

No more “New Year, New Me.” No more waiting until Monday, or until the moon aligned with Mars. I didn’t need another Pinterest board. I needed action. Right there. On the next breath.

Fast forward to today...

I’m now 52 kg — a healthy BMI for my height.

More importantly, I’m strong. I can lift weights. I can squat without making that embarrassing groaning noise. I can carry my toddler, groceries, AND hold my husband’s hand (romantically and functionally, thank you very much).

I’m 38 years old and fitter than I was at 28. And that feels like a miracle.

These days, I wake up with energy. I don’t dread workouts — I look forward to them. I’ve stuck to my home workout plan for 58 days straight, and while that number may not be flashy, it’s mine. Every drop of sweat, every sore muscle — I earned them.

This isn’t just a weight loss story. It’s a love story — between me and the body I’ve neglected for years.

It’s about realizing that taking care of myself doesn’t mean I’m selfish. It means I’m finally treating myself with the same care I give my kids, my job, and my husband.

And I’m not stopping here.

This blog will be my fitness diary — filled with routines, food choices, sweaty wins, motherhood chaos, love stories, toddler meltdowns, and everything in between.

So if you’re standing on the edge of your own “I’m okay” lie — I see you. And I’m here to say:

It’s never too late.

Not at 38. Not even if you’re tired, busy, or “bad at exercising.”

Start on your next breath.

You won’t regret it.

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To strength, sweat, and showing up every day —

Finding power in motherhood and muscle

P/S – Have you started your fitness journey yet?