Strength training was the best thing I did for my future self - Midlife Blush Journal

At 50, I was unmistakably coming into my own.

For the first time in decades, I could see the shape of a different life ahead of me. The boys were growing up, moving towards university, stepping into their own independence. Their world was opening.

And quietly, so was mine.

Retirement was no longer an abstract concept. It was visible on the horizon. Not as an ending, but as an invitation. An opportunity to step into a slower rhythm. One that felt more aligned with my own natural pace.

Around that time, I stopped smoking.

Twenty cigarettes a day.

Just like that.

I also gained a stone and a half, which, for the record, never left. It arrived, unpacked its bags, and made itself entirely at home.

And then came perimenopause.

My God.

I had never struggled with PMT. Rarely had period pain. Perhaps the occasional difficult week once every few months, but nothing that lingered. I used to half-jokingly attribute it to the moon and its rhythms.  Not dramatic. Just disorientating.

But this was different and it lasted 10 years!

This was at the time Dr Newson was just starting to be heard and I ready every artical and self help guide I could get my hands on.

My poor Husband David  and two boys  Sam and Elliot never knew which version of wife and mother they were going to encounter. All while holding down a full on career and not one but two house major house refurbishments. It was to say the least a huge merry go round of conflicting emotions, deep memory fog and mood swings I needed medication for.

I responded the only way I knew how. I began to turn towards myself, rather than away. And over the next 6 years I studied mindfulness, completing a full course before it became widely recognised. Meditation saved my peace of mind.  After which I returned to yoga more seriously, eventually completing a year-long Hatha Yoga course. Not to teach, but to deepen my understanding and preserve flexibility.

Yoga gave me awareness. It gave me calm. It gave me space.

But it did not give me strength.

Years of carrying a laptop on one shoulder, working long hours, and holding tension I barely noticed had taken their toll. My shoulder deteriorated slowly until surgery became unavoidable.

Life was busy. There was never a convenient time.

So I chose Christmas Eve.

Yes. I know.

COVID was in its 9th month so everyone that could  was working from home and with bills to pay so did I.

I told myself I would be back at work at my desk within six weeks. Four, realistically, allowing for the holidays.

But life, as it often does, had other plans. So I took a huge leap of faith, retired early and started paid lots of money to educationing my self for my own small business. But that is another story 

And three months later, I still could not sit comfortably at my laptop. I could not walk my dogs. I could not even fasten my own bra. 

It would take three years before I could do that simple movement again without pain.

 

It finally dawned on me that Yoga and Pilates, which I had once relied upon, began to aggravate my shoulder rather than support it. So I stopped.

And when you stop using parts of your body, strength does not disappear dramatically. It slips away quietly. Gradually. Invisibly.

Until one day, you realise you cannot lift the weekly shopping from the back of your car without your arms and shoulders screaming in protest.

It was embarrassing.

It was frightening.

It was not who I wanted to become.

It was not just strength that faded. It was coordination. I had always loved to dance and sing. Movement had once felt effortless. But even that familiarity began to dissolve through lack of use.

Then my second shoulder began to fail.

And for the first time, I looked ahead and asked a question I had never needed to ask before.

What kind of grandmother would I be?

Would I be able to run beside them? Lift them? Support them physically, as well as emotionally? Would I be able to help my boys in the same way our parents had helped us?

I did not want to watch life from the sidelines.

I wanted to be inside it.

So I began strength training.

I did not love it.

It was not graceful. It was not elegant. My face contorted into expressions somewhere between fierce determination and a mildly irritated witch. My language, on occasion, became colourful and it still is today too!

But I continued.

Because slowly, something remarkable began to happen.

My shoulders strengthened. My body stabilised. Movements that had once felt impossible became possible again.

I was not reclaiming the shape of my youth.

I was building something far more valuable.

Capability.

My blood pressure lowered. My blood sugar stabilised. The underlying arthritis that had lingered since my twenties became manageable rather than dominant.

And perhaps most importantly, I began to trust my body again.

Not as something fragile.

But as something responsive.

Something intelligent.

Something that, when listened to carefully, would tell me exactly what it needed.

I am not perfect. I still drink wine. I still dance salsa. I still move between discipline and indulgence, as most humans do.

But now, I know how to return to strength.

And that knowledge changes everything.

Strength training did not make me younger.

It made me more capable.

And in midlife, capability is freedom.

Ita Hicks
Midlife Blush Journal, 2026