MOVEMENT: why it’s not overrated
When the world was collapsing upon itself, government turmoil ransacked news channels, and our homes became our own personalized jail cells, I found peace for the first time in months. Quarantine was undeniably damaging, and my own story comes from a place of privilege — and I acknowledge that.
After my tenth grade year, I was in a spiral of darkness that I never could seem to crawl out of. I sprinted up the forever inclining stairs of my mental health, only for my feet to give way under and tumble backward as if I had never moved.
School was a nightmare, covid came and I woke up every morning grateful that I didn’t have to wake at the deathly hours of dawn. My exams were canceled to my great relief, and finally, after two years of studying hard, I was finally independent of academic responsibilities and the scrutinizing eyes of authority.
I was left with my parents, who urged me to breathe, after all, I was no longer underwater. There was no one to tell me what not to do.
It was a gradual shift. My day began an hour before lunch, sleep a hunger I could never satiate before, but then was in abundance. I ate not just food that pleased my tongue, but that devoid of caffeine and high in fiber. I listened to podcast after podcast, rekindling my fascination for philosophy. I set upon nourishing both body and mind.
However, it wasn’t until I lifted my first weight in months that I felt my mind finally ease.
Weight lifting had been abandoned due to exam seasoning quickly approaching, despite lifting heavy objects bringing me the most serotonin I have ever felt. My break had cost me much. When I clutched the barbell with my spindled fingers and raised it to my chest, my muscles tore at the skin of my arms, crying in defiance due to months of neglect.
Holding fifteen kgs on my shoulder, I lowered down to the ground in a deep squat. My thighs burned and quads seared, I pushed through my heels to reach the top in a lady-like grunt. A smile bloomed on my lips, reaching my eyes and coursing through every small crevice on my body.
I was a machine. The devotion that I had for the gym was unparalleled to any reverence I had prior. Strength made me stand higher, my lungs not pumping from anxiety attacks, but instead rushing with blood from newfound fortitude.
Move. Please, move when you think you cannot because through movement I found peace. Every morning I found solace on the yoga mat, pushing my body to bounds I never thought possible. I lift weights heavier than I ever thought I could. I walk with strength and prowess because movement is how you claim yourself when your mind cannot.
