I didn’t make it to the class on Monday, but did make it last night. I wanted to do my best at the class. I’m almost a black  belt, but I was sick and tired and sick and tired of being sick and tired.

I look like at 80 year old running around the dojo. But I’m here and the stumbling run was the best I could do.

This wasn’t how I wanted to show up, but I was showing up and that would have to be enough.

Last Wednesday I got to work, stomach cramping and head ringing. I was doing a meeting and let slip that I wasn’t feeling great. My co-worker said,  “oh, maybe you should take it easy.”

If I let beign miserable stop me I’d never do anything.

And then the misery came in for real. I had a tough week. I spent my days and nights close to the bathroom with the strength of a noodle.

I couldn’t let that continue. Saturday night me and a friend had tickets for a music festival.

She was excited too. Duran Duran were headlining and she’d been wanting to see them forever.

I had imagined myself, dressed in my best 80s gear—Maybe even pink hair!—as I heard the band that meant glamour when I was my daughter’s age. I would storm the stage, jump up and down screaming and dancing

I wanted it,  hungry for it.

Yeah, like a wolf.

Would my medically induced sickness keep me from it? Everything in me pushed back. I had to find a way.

The day came. I put on some comfortable clothes, with just a dash of flash

I took a nap, took Imodium and made my way. I trusted my friend, we walked slow and I got to hear the music. I went over to a fence so I could lean against it. 

It was not like I imagined. But I still got to have it.

Like my class. This is who I am today. I’ll be a black belt, hoping I will not be ill on the testing day. I’ll do what I can with what I’ve got. 

My black belt journey doesn’t look like Jackie Chan. In my mind I can do amazing tumbles and spinning kicks.

In my mind I can flaunt pink hair and jump and scream to the music.

My body today can show up. It will have to do. I’m still here and proud of it.