Listening to My Body First

This morning I woke up with a heavy, fuzzy feeling.

Before my mind could start talking me out of ignoring my workout alarm, I got up.

And I had to be honest with myself—it wasn’t about laziness. That was the story. The truth was, I didn’t feel like doing it. My body felt tight, slow, and resistant.

So I stayed with that.

I stepped out of bed. The cool air from the fan brushed against my skin. I rolled my eyes. Not trying to change it. Just noticing.

My mind tried to pull me back—back to the bed, back to comfort. But I didn’t follow it.

I drove to the park. The low hum of the engine, the quiet before movement. I stretched, feeling the pull in my legs, the stiffness still there.

As I started walking, I slowed down enough to actually hear.

The wind moving past me.
The rustle of leaves.
The squirrels moving through the grass.

I noticed something simple.

They were searching for food.

And so was I.

Not for something outside—but for something in me.

Movement. Breath. Presence.

That was enough.

I picked up my pace a little and looked back. My car was already far behind me—a small reminder that I had already started. Cries.

No turning back now.

My phone buzzed. I didn’t answer.

I made a quiet decision: stay with the sensation before my mind turns it into a story.

The rhythm of my steps.
The expansion of my lungs.

Then my watch said, you have reached two miles.

I looked ahead—and there it was. A hill.

Another moment where my mind wanted to question it. Why is the damn bench at the top?

But I stayed. I simply stayed. I actually slowed down, but I stayed with it.

The breeze shifted. What was once cool became sweat running down my face. My heart raced loud, present, undeniable.

I listened.

Not pushing past it. Not ignoring it. Just listening.

I made it to the bench and sat down.

The wood was warm. My body was alive. I looked around and saw others moving—each person in their own moment, at their own pace.

I came back to the truth of the morning.

My mind doesn’t get to decide everything.

My body speaks too.

And when I listen, something shifts.

I kept going.

Then I heard it—you have reached three miles.

I didn’t even realize it.

Because I no longer focused on the marker. I was in the moment.

I had already gone further than I had expected.

Further than yesterday.

As I made my way back, I slowed down. Letting my body settle. Letting the moment close.

I saw my car, stretched one more time, and stepped into the parking lot.

I waved at a few familiar walkers.

Then I sat with myself.

No rush. No noise.

Just a quiet acknowledgment.

I did that.

Two miles more than yesterday.

Not because I forced it.

Because I listened.

And I didn’t override what my body was telling me.

Prompt: What did your body feel before you thought about it?

Prompt: Did you listen or override it?