I’m heading into the final day of an absolutely mad 3-week adventure. In this moment I am deeply grateful for this wonderful body of mine; this perfectly imperfect body that has been challenged with preparing for a race, executing on the 3-day stage race, followed by multiple days of hiking and riding and never once said “not today”.

In exchange for how good my body is to me, I treat it equally well – is it the right pronoun for you body? I fuel it well … mostly …, hydrate well, especially here in the desert, I stretch and roll to soothe my muscles and slather decadent goopiness on my skin to keep it from turning into lizard skin under this glorious sun.

This is just me as I am. I have a soft belly and a weird flat ass. I have asthmatic lungs and short legs. But I also have great hair (mostly) and my short legs are so strong. By some standards my body would be woefully flawed, but my standard is the only one that matters, and this body serves me so well. I have nothing but love for it.

It wasn’t always that way. I remember struggling to diet so I could be thinner, and be more like the skinny girls. The deprivation, going to weight loss meetings and feeling so dejected over the lack of results just crushed my sprit. Always the dejection. Sometimes I’d lose a few pounds but they’d always come back and bring their friends.

I don’t own a scale any longer. Knowing what I weigh is not a significant metric for me. I can tell you what my blood pressure is and what my resting heart rate is. I know the watts I churn out on my spin bike. Those numbers all matter to me far more than the number on the scale.

I love my curls strewn with tinsel. I am continually surprised by just how much tinsel there is, but I have earned every beautiful strand of silver.

I love my strong legs and my rock solid quads.

I have a damned fine rack.

I have nice hands and a wonky dimple that sits too high on my cheek that I like.

My smiles come easily and lights up my eyes.

My eyes are just brown – but oh, what these eyes have seen. So much joy has filled my heart from what these plain brown eyes have beheld.

My thighs touch and my stomach is soft and squishy. Do I love them? No. But I certainly don’t hate them either. They’re all just a part of who I am – I feel no need to change them. If through training and good nutrition, I lose some weight, I’ll take the health gains. Not to fit into smaller jeans but to haul less up each climb.

My only goal for my body is to get stronger and stay healthy as I get older. I am the strongest I’ve ever been as I am the oldest I’ve ever been. I hope to keep that trend going as long as my body allows.