Apparently, We’re Doing This…

Apparently, We’re Playing Hockey Again

At the age of 16, I was diagnosed with PCOS.

Did I truly understand what that meant at 16?

Absolutely not.

Now, at the ripe old age of 35, do I truly understand what it means?

Also no.

What I do know is that it comes with a delightful little goodie bag of symptoms: hormonal imbalances, weight gain, irregular periods, fatigue, brain fog, lack of motivation and a body that sometimes seems to have absolutely no interest in cooperating with whatever plans I have made for it.

Somewhere along the way, I went from being a fit, active young girl to a 35-year-old mother of three who finds enormous comfort in food.

And I don’t just mean chocolate.

I mean FOOD.

Delicious home-cooked meals. Takeaways. Pasta. Potatoes. Something covered in cheese. Something else covered in sauce.

“Basically, if it tastes good and makes life feel better for approximately 20 minutes, I’m interested.”

Over the years, I’ve gymed on and off more times than I can count.

I start.

I get motivated.

I start seeing results.

The results stop.

I get annoyed.

I give up.

I eat something delicious.

Repeat.

It’s a beautiful little vicious cycle.

And Then My Brain Had an Idea

At 35, after watching a few of my daughter’s hockey games, something inside me apparently woke up and went:

“You know what would be fun? Playing hockey again.”

Now, a sensible person might have watched the game, enjoyed the nostalgia and gone home.

I am apparently not a sensible person.

Because my next thought was essentially:

“Well, if we’re doing this, we may as well do it properly.”

And somewhere in the archives of my brain, underneath school lunches, rental arrears, grocery lists and approximately 400 other things, I remembered that I actually have a fitness qualification.

A qualification I have done absolutely nothing with for years.

Obviously, it was time to dust that bitch off.

This Escalated Quickly

So this weekend I sat down and designed myself a training program.

Then I looked at it.

Then I realised I had clearly designed it for the 20-something-year-old version of myself.

So I scrapped it.

Because what in the actual hell was I thinking?

I redesigned it, sent it off to my very wise tutor for inspection and waited for him to tell me I’d lost my mind.

Instead, I got the nod of approval — with a few minor suggestions.

Excellent.

We had a plan.

Except apparently a simple four-week exercise program wasn’t enough for me.

Oh no.

This thing evolved.

It now has milestones.

Daily journals.

Weekly tracking.

Meal tracking.

Water-intake tracking.

Progress reports.

Exercise plans.

Reflections.

Probably my hopes and dreams somewhere in there too.

My innocent little four-week exercise plan eventually became TWO ring-bound books.

Not because I deliberately planned two volumes of my Rocky Balboa comeback story.

I just didn’t have rings big enough.

This should have been my first warning.

Day One: Immediate Regret

Today was the day.

I was determined.

I was going to the gym.

And I did.

Walking back in actually felt amazing.

Seeing everyone again, getting warm and excited greetings from the staff, seeing familiar faces — for a brief moment I thought:

“YES. This is it. I’m back.”

Then I did my warm-up.

And reality arrived.

My first thought was:

“Fuck. I’ve lost a lot of strength.”

That’s okay, I told myself.

We’ll get it back.

Positive thoughts.

Growth mindset.

Inspirational quote.

Whatever.

Then I continued with the workout.

About halfway through, my inner monologue had changed considerably.

“What in the world was I thinking?”

Followed shortly by:

“Why did I make this program?”

And eventually:

“Who can I speak to about cancelling this entire idea?”

But something really lovely happened too.

Old colleagues popped over throughout my workout. Some gave me encouragement. Others stopped to tell me a story and distract me for a few minutes.

And somehow, despite several moments where I was reasonably certain my body was preparing to leave this earth…

I finished it.

Well.

Almost.

I skipped the planking.

But planking is tomorrow’s problem.

So… Now What?

I’m not starting this because I suddenly love exercising every second of the day.

I’m not going to pretend I’m going to eat chicken, broccoli and sadness for the next six months.

I’m definitely not promising some dramatic “NEW ME” transformation.

I actually quite like me.

I’d just like this version of me to feel stronger.

I’d like to have more energy.

I’d like to feel comfortable in my body again.

And, apparently, I’d like to run around a hockey field at 35 as though my knees haven’t been faithfully carrying me around for three and a half decades.

PCOS might make some parts of this harder.

Being a mom makes finding the time harder.

My love of really good food certainly isn’t going anywhere.

And motivation?

Well, motivation and I have a complicated relationship.

So maybe this time it isn’t about motivation.

Maybe it’s just about showing up again tomorrow.

And then the day after that.

And when I inevitably have a terrible week, maybe instead of deciding I’ve “failed” and throwing the whole thing away, I’ll just start again.

No massive promises.

No “90-day transformation.”

No before photo where I’m deliberately standing badly with terrible lighting.

Just me, my ridiculously over-engineered two-volume fitness bible, PCOS, three children, a questionable decision to return to hockey…

…and one skipped plank.

Day one: done.

God help me.

About the Author

Candice Vosloo

Administrator

35.. Mom of 3. PCOS since 16. Lover of good food. Somehow decided playing hockey again was a sensible

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