What Progress Looks Like Now

May has been a flurry of movement, literally. My goal was to hike twice this month (and every month through October), but I’ve already gone on four hikes and walked in a 5K event. This deliberate activity has propelled me forward into an active lifestyle, something I could only fantasize about last year and something that I’ve missed for almost 3 years.

I’m not doing this without pain or limitations. Two of the hikes I’ve been on were too much, too long, and I finished with significant pain that forced me to ice and elevate my feet after. Two of the hikes I was able to stay within my limitations and not suffer for it after. All of them, however, have felt like a victory. Also, this movement, the hiking, has become a lifestyle for me, something I look forward to and need.

I’m seeing my progress every day. Over the weekend, my daughter and I walked in a 5K as part of the Lilac Festival activities in town. We knew we wouldn’t be fast, that we would likely finish last, and we were okay with that. The last time we had done this walk was after I’d had knee surgery, and we finished last then too, but it was a significant accomplishment then, just as it was now. My daughter also had foot surgery last fall, so we are both still rebuilding strength and stamina. I am further along in my recovery than she is, and I naturally just walk faster, so I had to be deliberate in my pace so we could do the walk together.

There were times during the walk when I was well ahead of her, so I turned and started walking backwards. This slowed my pace but also gave me the opportunity to work different muscle groups. Each time I did it, I was reminded how far I’ve come in the past 6 months, from learning how to walk again to being able to walk backwards.

With every step I take lately, I am learning more and more about myself. I’m learning about what I’m capable of, both physically and mentally, and I’m learning to respect my limitations. The second one is a challenge…I’ve never been a fan of limitations. Most of my life, I’ve approached everything as though I’m invincible. Middle age brings a hard lesson that invincibility is a thing of the past. That, however, doesn’t mean I need to stop. No, instead, I need to adjust.

That word keeps finding me lately. Adjust.

It is not a word I have always respected. Adjusting used to feel too close to surrender, like shrinking the dream to fit the limitation. It felt like admitting defeat before I had even finished proving how tough I could be.

But I am learning that adjustment is not the same as quitting.

Adjustment is choosing hiking poles because they make the trail possible. Adjustment is slowing my pace so I can finish the walk with my daughter instead of racing ahead just because I can. Adjustment is knowing when a hike has pushed me too far and giving my body ice, elevation, and care instead of scolding it for not being stronger yet.

Adjustment is wisdom wearing practical shoes.

During that 5K, walking backward became its own strange little lesson. I wasn’t turning around because I was going the wrong way. I wasn’t retreating. I was still moving along the same course, still covering the same ground, still heading toward the same finish line.

I had just changed how I was moving. That seems to speak to what this season of my life is teaching me.

There are going to be moments when forward does not look the way I thought it would. Sometimes forward will be slow. Sometimes it will require rest after. Sometimes forward will include pain I have to respect instead of ignore. Sometimes it will mean turning around, facing where I’ve been, and realizing I am strong enough now to move through the world in ways I couldn’t six months ago.

Six months ago, I was relearning how to walk. Now I am hiking , walking 5Ks and turning around in the middle of the road to walk backward because my body can do that again. That deserves a little awe.

Not the loud, fireworks kind but the kind that makes you want to be kinder to yourself because you finally understand how hard you have worked to get here.

I am not invincible anymore. Maybe I never was (though I refuse to believe that).

I am, however, becoming something better than invincible. I am becoming aware and deliberate. I am becoming someone who knows that strength is not always measured by how hard I push but is measured by how well I listen.

And sometimes, apparently, it is measured by the ability to walk backward during a 5K so my daughter with her own healing foot can catch up.

We finished last again, but I am not embarrassed by that. Last place still showed up and crossed the finish line. Last place still moved along that road on feet that have been cut open, repaired, rebuilt, and asked to trust the ground again.

There was a time when finishing last might have felt like something to explain. Now it feels like something to honor.

This accomplishment was never really about the 5K. It was about recognizing that progress does not always charge ahead with a victory song and perfect stride.

Sometimes progress limps a little, uses poles, walks backwards, relies on ice packs, and still, somehow, beautifully, it gets there.