I was a huge fan of the Jules and Sarah podcast (a fully fledged member of the Port Salut Crew, I’ll have you know). Their weekly chats and tales of Ken and June’s antics filled my lengthy commutes to and from the office. They made me laugh out loud and feel like I had two gloriously witty pals ready to offer a comforting laugh just when I needed it.
During lockdown, Sarah’s Elevenses videos became a sparkly lifeline to many. As someone who spent much of that time alone, I’d make a brew, pop her on and feel a little less disconnected from the world.
So when I recently read her Substack, When I Grow Up I Want To Be Lulu, where she reflects on her complicated relationship with exercise, PE lessons of the past, and her hope for a more joyful, empowered future of movement, I felt it in my bones.
So here I am, hopefully returning the favour with a reply of sorts. One from the fitness angle.
Because I get it. All of it.
We’re of a similar age, me and Sarah. We were brought up on the same brand of awkward PE classes, Spice Girls, Smash Hits and J-17 magazine (anyone remember that). I had zero enthusiasm for hockey or netball – I’m pretty sure it was those hideous bottle green knicker shorts and the communal showers.
To this day, the smell of The Body Shop’s Dewberry or White Musk takes me straight back to those changing rooms. A mix of nerves and teenage awkwardness in an unflattering Aertex top.
I too used to believe that movement was something for other people. The sporty people. The people who looked good in shorts and made sports day seem effortless. Not for me. I was the arty one. The one who got picked last and prayed for rain so that cross-country would be cancelled.
For the longest time, I thought exercise just wasn’t for me. I was no good at it. I didn’t belong in that world.
But something shifted.
I turned 30. Desperate for a challenge and feeling a little lost, I randomly signed up to a marathon. I could barely run a bath, let alone a mile, but I printed out a plan and started the couch to 5k. Six months later, I ran that marathon. Slowly, imperfectly, but to my amazement, (and everyone elses) I did it and it changed everything.
I realised that movement wasn’t a punishment. It didn’t have to be about shrinking or fitting in. It could be about joy. About pushing your boundaries, surprising yourself, and giving your mind a break from the chaos of the day. A great way of meeting new people.
I stopped chasing numbers – how fast or far I’d gone. I started paying attention to how I felt. Stronger. Steadier. Happier.
These days, I move because I can. Because I want to feel good, not because I want to punish myself. I run because I like it. Not always the running bit, granted, but the bit afterwards when I feel better and proud of myself for getting out the door.
I promise you, it doesn’t matter what your fitness history looks like. You don’t need a personal trainer, fancy leggings nor do you need to be a certain size or shape to start.
You just need to begin.
If dance cardio sounds fun to you, go. Dance like no one is watching! If swimming feels gentle and kind, do that. If you’d rather walk through your local park with a podcast in your ears and a coffee in hand, then start there. Movement doesn’t have to be punishing to count.
You’re not the girl from PE anymore or the teenager frozen in a gym changing room. You’re a grown woman who’s been through life, who knows herself better and who gets to write a whole new chapter on what movement means to her.
One that includes a good playlist. Confidence. Community. Endorphins. Maybe even a little sweat.
If you’ve had a wobbly relationship with exercise, I want you to know this: it’s okay to come back to it slowly. It’s okay to reframe it as something joyful. It’s okay to choose a class over the gym floor because you just want to be told what to do. Same.
Start where you are. Move how you like. Focus on joy.
Start with once a week. Find something low-pressure and local. Move your body in a way that feels good. Stretch. Strengthen. Dance. Laugh. If your face goes red, just know that mine does too.
We don’t need to be the fastest, strongest or fittest in the room. We just need to keep showing up. For ourselves, our future selves and the 76-year-old versions of us heading to Glastonbury with our leopard print totes.
Because here’s what no one told us back in Year 9 PE: you don’t have to be good at it. You just have to be there. Your body deserves to move because it’s yours. Not because it needs fixing, shrinking or reshaping, but because it carries you through life and it deserves to be celebrated.
Here’s to red faces, sweaty fringes and fully embracing the joy of movement. Even if we do occasionally still need a Mars bar afterwards.
And Sarah, if you’re reading – when we grow up, we want to be Lulu too.
(Although, she once did my make up and was very heavy-handed with the bronzer!)
