Who Am I Competing With?
Keeping Up With Myself
Since tearing the tendon in my elbow, I haven’t played golf. No pickleball. No upper body work. No planks. Nothing that requires pushing, pulling, or pretending I’m 45.
So I pivoted. If I can’t lift, I’ll walk. And not just walk, I’ll optimize walking. More miles and longer routes. And because moderation has never been my default setting, I even bought a weighted vest.
One morning, walking briskly (of course), talking to my mom through my headphones (also, of course), and not paying enough attention (predictable), I stepped off a curb without noticing the road sloped unevenly…and down I went.
Not gracefully. Not athletically. A full-on, totally klutz, super-uncool tumble. I knew immediately this wasn’t a “walk it off” situation. I hung up with my mom, called my husband, and asked him to bring the car around like I was 87. Straight to urgent care.
X-ray.
Exam.
Verdict: Two bone chips. Hairline fracture. Air cast for at least a month.
This Is Not Behind Me
I’m three weeks into healing. One more week until I see the orthopedist and find out whether I’m cleared to start moving normally again.
In the meantime, I’m doing what doesn’t hurt. Which, for someone who has always identified as strong, capable, and fast-moving, is not a lot.
Movement is how I process. It’s how I regulate. It’s how I feel competent. Sitting still feels like regression…and I hate regression!
The Part I Don’t Say Out Loud
There’s a subtle pressure that comes with caring about longevity—
If moderate exercise is good for brain health, then more must be better. If strength protects bone, lift heavier. If cardio protects the heart, add miles.
Layer on genetic risk awareness, and suddenly every workout feels like a hedge against the future. Except tendons and ankles don’t care about your hedge strategy. They care about load and recovery.
And I kept inching the load upward. Not dramatically or recklessly. Just enough to challenge myself. Just enough to show progress.
Until my body very clearly said, “No.”
The Identity Shift
This part is harder than the physical pain. I’m used to being the fast walker. The brisk one. The “let’s go!” person. Now I’m the one in an air cast calculating curb heights.
It’s humbling and inconvenient and, frankly, depressing in a low-grade, quiet way I didn’t expect.
Because this wasn’t about competing with other people. It was about competing with time. Trying to outrun aging. Outlift genetics and outperform uncertainty.
This is a competition you don’t win by pushing harder. You win it by staying in the game…and injury sidelines you!
The Question I Had to Ask
Who am I competing with?
It wasn’t social media, my friends or even my past self. It was an idea that if I just did more, I could control more.
But longevity isn’t built on heroic bursts. It’s built on consistency.
Moderate cardio done regularly works.
Intelligent resistance training works.
Rest works.
Ego doesn’t.
And pushing through pain isn’t discipline, it’s denial!
Right now, I’m not lifting heavier. I’m not logging miles. I’m healing. I’m choosing to see this as a wake-up call instead of a setback.
And every day, when I feel the urge to rush it, I ask myself: Who the hell am I competing with? No one!
Durability over urgency and sustainability over pride. That might be the strongest shift I make this decade.