Discovering my body at 60

I don’t like to describe it as losing weight. But by losing 82 pounds (36.3 kilograms), I found something. I discovered my body for the first time at age 60. And I love it.

I like seeing my collarbone and the definition of my muscles in my shoulders and biceps. I like how my skin feels when the sunshine warms my arms and when I cross my shins when wearing shorts. I like when my heart pumps on a vigorous session on my elliptical and how my muscles all relax after a deep exhale. I even like the things about me that aren’t perfect, like my residual paunch.

Sixty isn’t supposed to be the age when you love your body. It’s the age when you expect it to start falling apart. My father didn’t make it to 60. My mom suffered a major stroke at 50, lost a leg from blood clots at 58, and died from a heart attack at 63. If I had continued my unhealthy lifestyle, I might have had the same fate. But here I am feeling the best I ever had in my life.

I needed to do more than drop weight. I had to change my relationship with my body.

From an early age, I was taught my body was something to fear. I was born with a club right foot. It required a series of surgeries from infancy to age 5 to correct. I still have the brace I wore as a toddler.