If This Was Your Last Day on Earth, What Would Your Body Want?

I've been pondering over this question for several months

Photo by Eneko Uruñuela on Unsplash

What’s it all for?

Have I really spent my life striving for goals based on their level of social acceptability and an arbitrary number? Or were they my goals, and I’m just in the throws of an internal revolution?

I run for the freedom it brings me and the sense of being alive. And yet, I somehow find this freedom currently curtailed and have allowed running to dictate my life.

As with many sports, there’s an enormous emphasis on time when it comes to running. These times become the peg we hang our hat of self-worth on, the stick we beat ourselves with, and a random metric to see how we stack up against others.

It’s boxing me in, not helping me soar. I’m running through quicksand.

There is no gatekeeper for running, nor does anyone have a monopoly on it. But by defining myself as “Ali the runner,” I allowed social media noise to infiltrate my soul and distract my values.

Has it pushed me away from my authenticity?

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Hollow and battered, I sit opposite my therapist with my arms crossed over my chest as a first line of defense. She tilts her head to the side and asks me this question.

“If this was your last day on earth, what would your body want?”

That was the moment I realised I had betrayed my body and become one of those parents. I parented my body in an authoritarian style, desperate to keep up with everyone around me. To belong. I wanted my kid to be special and to stand out.

But this comes at a cost.

I pride myself on being someone who doesn’t follow the herd. Yet, here I was, stumbling blindly forward - there’s safety in numbers within a tribe.

I took a deep breath and paused, slightly confused by my therapist’s question. I’m known by my friends and family for my healthy lifestyle. I’ve looked after my body well over the years.

What more could this ungrateful vessel want?

Without thinking, the word “rest” flashed into my mind. Was it my body communicating with my mind? Emotions prickled behind my eyes. “My body hates me,” I thought.

I didn’t realise this therapy session would turn into mediation between my body and mind.

I didn’t even know they were at war.

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Without listening to what my body needed to thrive, my mind decided what I wanted to do and ordered my body to do it—no ifs, buts, or maybes.

I simply mirrored the parenting style of my father. I did not wait to listen to my body to tell me if it was hungry; I instructed it on when and what to eat.

I’m a weird one - I rarely feel hunger or thirst. This is a sign of disassociation.

It’s not because I don’t experience these conditions but because, like many of my generation, I have been taught to ignore the messages of my body and rely on others to tell me how I feel.

As children, many of my generation were chastised impatiently mid-cry and told there was nothing to cry about. A “pull yourself together” sort of approach. We were rarely asked why we were crying or had our feelings validated. Back then, there was no holding space for feelings or helping us navigate our complex emotions.

I have lost the art of listening to my body and trusting its whispers.

Is it time to surrender?

Several years ago, I lived by the adage of “I can sleep when I’m dead.” Life was full on. I thought I thrived in the mayhem and franticness of it all.

My mind was sharp, and my body was a machine.

In fact, that’s what I used to get called “The Machine.” Because I was always on the go. Running miles, working overtime in a demanding job, putting hours into my small business, meeting my dogs’ every need, and servicing friendships. I did not stop.

And I felt alive.

Oh, the power of adrenaline and living in a constant state of fight or flight.

For the last few months, I’ve felt out of sorts. My blood and hormone levels are normal. But instead of finding flow on my runs, I just feel like a cranky old tractor.

Waking up after double the sleep I used to get, I feel exhausted.

My body is on strike.

I scroll through Instagram, and images of people running further and faster pour in. And all I hear are subliminal messages: to be relevant and fit the expectations of a “proper” runner, I need to do something exceptional.

But I’m not exceptional. And my body is pushing back.

I don’t need the stamp of a big race in my running passport. I don’t aspire for the bragging rights of certain times. But I can’t help but wonder if I am enough as I am to claim the label of “runner”?

I am kind, I am generous, I am vulnerable, I am fierce when needed and I am open to learning. I have allowed running to define me, and I am sitting on its conveyor belt - always seeking progression - instead of just enjoying the moment.

Stop.

I am enough as I am.

We talk about being daring and bold and living fearlessly. We think this means striving for bigger and better adventures. For finding a challenge that no one else has done. To be the first person to do a thing.

But what if being daring and bold means finding the strength to surrender? To stop and finally say “no”. What if my moment of boldness is similar to Forrest Gump grinding to a halt and saying, “I'm pretty tired. I think I'll go home now.”

Perhaps my therapist's question is a continuation of my musings on what it means to accept the moniker of average.

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I am hopelessly and helplessly in love with running. It is in the motion of running that I feel truly myself.

But not everything has to be improved and polished.

And just like the old story of the businessman trying to get the fisherman to turn his lifestyle into a business so he can retire by the water and fish all day, some things are already perfect.

Not everything needs to be meddled with.

And maybe that’s what my body is trying to say to me—enough of the orders, prescriptions, and authoritarian approach.

My body wants to just be.

I have a hunger for the tranquility of nature.

Bobbing up and down in my kayak, on the waves and being at one with the ocean. Stopping mid-run to place my hand against the barked fingerprint of individual trees, feeling their pulse beneath my hand. And climbing higher up a mountain until I feel the coldness of the air sting my lungs.

Maybe it’s time to listen to my body and ask what it longs for at the start of each day. To follow my yearnings and not my sense of “should.”

Some days, my body may need speed; others, it might crave yoga. Some days, it may even want to pop on a weighted vest and move through some muscle-boosting exercises. And sometimes, it might just want to curl up shamelessly in front of Netflix and release whatever emotions it’s experiencing in concert with a good movie.

Maybe it’s time to let my body decide instead of being dictated to by a future race goal.

I have a lot of makeup to do. I’ve betrayed my body over the years, and it’s time I listened to what it wants to do instead of barking orders at it like an energy-sucking vampire.

Maybe in time, I will get the balance right between a prescription training plan and moving whimsically. Until then, I must spread my wings and learn how to fly again.

What would your body crave if this was your last day on earth? Might you need to make some changes, too?

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You can also find my writings and musings on Medium, where I write about kindness, psychology, social injustice, the nuances of living childfree, friendship, social justice, feminism, personal growth, and much more.

Here are free links to some of my most recent pieces on Medium.

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