Running on Caffeine, Delusion & the Fear of Getting Worse

Sneakers & Stilettos™

I would first like to publicly address the fitness industry for one very important reason:

Why did nobody mention that maintaining a body is a full-time job?

Because this feels illegal.

Every single day it’s:

• drink water

• eat protein

• get steps in

• stretch

• sleep enough

• regulate cortisol

• heal emotionally

• take vitamins

• work out

• stay mentally stable

Meanwhile I can barely answer emails without needing a recovery snack.

People think gym girls are fueled by motivation.

That’s adorable.

I am personally fueled by:

1. Caffeine

2. Delusion

3. The fear of waking up one day and sounding like a bag of uncooked rice every time I stand up

That’s it.

That’s the wellness journey.

Some mornings I wake up ready to conquer the world.

Other mornings I wake up looking like a Victorian child recovering from tuberculosis.

And yet somehow… I still end up at the gym.

Not because I want to.

Let’s not get crazy.

I go because this body has the audacity to require maintenance.

You skip ONE workout and suddenly your brain acts like:

“Well. This is it. We’ve officially retired from society. Our knees are dissolving. We’ll now be shaped like an ottoman forever.”

The dramatics are unbelievable.

And honestly, fitness after 30 feels less like self-care and more like urgently preventing decay.

I don’t even work out to look hot anymore.

I work out because sitting too long now feels like a personal attack.

One wrong sleeping position and suddenly I need a chiropractor, a heating pad, and prayers from three different religions.

But nothing — and I mean NOTHING — is more humbling than trying to work out with zero motivation.

That drive to the gym?

Devastating.

You sit in the parking lot bargaining with yourself like:

“Okay… if we survive this workout, we can emotionally recover at Target.”

And then you walk inside pretending you belong there while your pre-workout hits your bloodstream like a police raid.

People online are always like:

“Remember your why.”

My why?

Vanity.

Spite.

Mental illness.

And the terrifying realization that metabolism is apparently a temporary privilege.

Also… let’s talk about gym fashion.

Why are workout clothes simultaneously so flattering and so offensive?

I put on leggings and suddenly I’m both powerful and fighting for my life.

And sports bras?

Those things are either:

• emotionally supportive

  
  

  OR

• physically supportive

Never both.

Then comes the actual workout.

Halfway through I’m always convinced I’ve reached the edge of human endurance.

Meanwhile the fitness influencer beside me is smiling through jump squats like she was raised by mountain goats.

I’m over there seeing ancestors.

And don’t even get me started on fitness trackers.

Nothing humbles you faster than doing what felt like Olympic-level cardio only for your watch to say:

“Great job! You burned 87 calories.”

EIGHTY SEVEN?

I suffered publicly for 87 calories?

A mozzarella stick has more calories than that.

One stressful email burns more emotional energy.

But despite all the complaining… we keep going.

Because deep down, working out isn’t always about becoming hotter, thinner, stronger, or more disciplined.

Sometimes it’s just proof that you haven’t given up on yourself.

Even on the messy days.

Even on the tired days.

Even on the “I’d rather fake my own disappearance than do cardio” days.

You still show up.

Maybe not gracefully.

Maybe not motivated.

Maybe powered entirely by espresso and unresolved trauma.

But you show up anyway.

And honestly?

That deserves a trophy.

Or at the very least… a breakfast sandwich.