This week marks my three-year anniversary of my fitness journey.

I started working with my trainer, Isaac, on August 16, 2023. And when I say I started working out, I mean I really started at the beginning.

During our first session, I couldn’t stand up from a fitness bench without pushing off with my hands. I couldn’t do a squat without hanging onto a railing. We started training with 5-pound weights.

Five. Pounds.

And I remember spending most of that first month thinking I was going to die. Or maybe just wanting to die, because I was so darn sore!

I was 67 years old. I had lifted weights only one other time in my life. I weighed 185 pounds, had a high percentage of body fat and very little lean muscle mass.

And nutrition? I knew absolutely nothing.

What is a macro anyway?

Year One: Apparently, Isaac Wasn’t Trying to Kill Me

Slowly, things started to change.

The weights got heavier. Squats became something I could actually do instead of an elaborate maneuver involving a railing and a prayer. I got stronger. And somewhere along the way, I stopped dreading every workout and started looking forward to seeing what my body could do next.

By the end of my first year, I had lost 55 pounds, won a body transformation challenge at my gym, and—most importantly—I was gaining muscle.

Not bad for the woman who started with five-pound weights!

Year Two: Food Is More Than Calories

During my second year, I really began to understand nutrition.

Protein. Carbs. Fats. Calories. And yes, those mysterious things called macros.

I learned that eating to build and maintain muscle is very different from simply eating less to lose weight. I became much more intentional about fueling my body instead of just trying to make the number on the scale go down.

And it worked.

By the end of year two, I had gained significantly more muscle and lost another eight pounds.

Year Three: Strength, Surgery, and a Very Unplanned Detour

So here I sit at year three.

My weight stays right around 120 pounds, only about two pounds lighter than I was at the end of year two.

Three years ago, I probably would have looked at that number and thought, Only two pounds?

Today, I know better.

Because year three threw me a curveball I definitely did not have on my fitness bingo card.

I developed significant nerve and back problems that eventually required surgery. Along with the back problems came sciatica, weakness in my right leg and foot drop.

Suddenly my fitness goals weren’t about how much I could lift or how much muscle I could gain. They became much more basic: walk safely, get my strength back, get my foot working properly again, and be patient while my body healed.

**Patience, by the way, is not one of my superpowers. **

For someone who had spent three years getting stronger and pushing herself to do more, being told no lifting, bending or twisting was its own special form of torture.

But something interesting happened.

All those years of training suddenly became about much more than how I looked in the mirror. I went into surgery with a strong body and a lot more muscle than I had three years earlier.   Recovery has given me an entirely new appreciation for strength.

The Part I Never Expected: The People

There is another part of this three-year journey that has absolutely nothing to do with pounds, body fat, muscle mass or macros.

Friendship.

When I started training with Isaac, I expected him to teach me how to lift weights.

I did not expect him to expand my social circle.

Through Isaac, I’ve met new people who have become friends. The gym became more than a place I went to exercise. It became a place where I knew people, where people knew me, where we encouraged each other, laughed together and noticed when someone wasn’t there.

There is something pretty special about walking into a gym and realizing you’re not just there for your workout anymore.

You’re part of a community.

And Isaac gave me that too.

He didn’t just introduce me to dumbbells, squats and macros. He introduced me to people who have made this entire experience more fun.

Although, for the record, I still haven’t met anyone who thinks burpees are fun.

And Then There’s Isaac

Isaac has been there from that very first five-pound weight.

He’s challenged me, encouraged me, taught me, introduced me to new friends and undoubtedly listened to more complaining than any human being should reasonably be expected to endure.

But this year showed me another side of what it means to have a great trainer.

After my surgery, I started physical therapy to help me regain the strength and function I had lost. Isaac came to one of my physical therapy appointments with me—on his own time.

He didn’t have to be there. He wasn’t getting paid to be there. He came because he wanted to understand exactly what my physical therapist was seeing, what exercises I was doing, what my limitations were, and how he could safely help me continue my recovery when we trained together.

That meant a lot to me.

There is a big difference between someone whose job is to train you for an hour and someone who is genuinely invested in your success. Isaac has made it very clear which one he is.

He has spent three years pushing me when I needed to be pushed. Now, when my body needs something completely different, he’s learning right alongside me how to help me rebuild safely.

Instead of always pushing me to do more, sometimes his job now is helping me understand when less is actually more.

And for someone who is not particularly famous for her patience, that’s probably one of his tougher assignments yet.

Three years later, we’re still at it.

I’m stronger. I’m leaner. I’m smarter about nutrition. I’ve made wonderful new friends. I’ve been knocked down a bit, had surgery, and am now working my way back.

And I’m still learning.

The scale certainly doesn’t tell that story.

It doesn’t tell you how much stronger you’ve become.

It doesn’t show the muscle you’ve built or the confidence you’ve gained.

It doesn’t show the friendships you’ve made.

And it definitely doesn’t measure what it feels like to have something temporarily taken away from you and then fight to get it back.

I didn’t start this journey because I wanted to become a bodybuilder or spend my life in a gym. I started because I wanted to change my health and what aging was going to look like for me.

What I didn’t realize was how much it would change me.

At 67, I couldn’t get off a bench without using my hands.

Three years later, I’ve lost 65 pounds, built muscle I never thought I’d have, learned what a macro is, made new friends, survived back surgery, and am already fighting my way back into the gym.

And somewhere along the way, the guy I hired to teach me how to lift weights became someone who cared enough about my recovery to show up at physical therapy on his own time.

I’d say we’ve made a little progress.

And Isaac?

I’m finally willing to admit you probably weren’t trying to kill me after all.

Although after three years, the jury is still out on leg day.

Happy three-year anniversary to us. ❤️💪