The intersection of art and fitness is so small that I can only name a handful of artists who deliberately engage with the subject (all of them male, of course). It is a topic that is so rarely discussed in my world–the art world–that it took a global health crisis for me to finally begin to take control of my health, and introduce an entirely new vocabulary into my vernacular. Four years later, I now find myself speaking fluently–and passionately–about hypertrophy, isometric movements, and macronutrients.
Before I became the person I am today–the person who works out every day and whose identity is now defined by the fact that she can do 10 pull-ups and deadlift twice her body weight–I never exercised. Though I had been a dedicated cyclist in New York City for the last 15 years, not once did I ever step inside a gym, nor did I ever pick up a weight. The idea of excelling in sports or fitness was just not a part of my personal brand; I was the creative one, the subversive one, the eccentric, artsy one. Going to the gym was just so mainstream. Plus, I (convinced myself I) didn’t have time.
After a decade of working sedentary desk jobs as head of digital for several museums in New York, sitting idly in front of some type of screen every day, one day I decided that perhaps it was time to make a change. I hired a personal trainer and wanted to learn something new. My goals were modest: to get strong enough to do 1 push up.
I vividly remember the feeling of overwhelming exhaustion and deep pain after our first session, as well as the days of not being able to sit down without grabbing onto something. I was out of shape, and arguably, had never been in shape to begin with. Nevertheless, I returned, session after session, to get my ass kicked.
Just as I was getting into my new routine (though an inconsistent one between travel and other engagements), a global pandemic gradually began to shut down the world, and time was in abundance. I had just launched my new digital consultancy and was fortunate to continue my work remotely from home. At the end of each day of back to back Zoom meetings, I pulled out my yoga mat, assembled my collection of dumbbells, and started working on my other project: myself. Just a few weeks in, I had done it: my first push up! But I wasn’t going to stop there. I wanted to get to 10 push ups. Then 20. Eventually as I began to advance in each goal: 1 pull-up, 10 pull-ups, 150 pound squats, 200 pound deadlifts, I realized how resilient and limitless our bodies can be.
“What is she training for?” I’m sure many of my followers on social media would wonder, as I routinely documented my progress. I wasn’t preparing for a competition or trying to lose weight (in fact I ended up gaining about 10 pounds of new muscle). I was just trying to challenge myself and do something for me. Working in an industry where my entire day belongs to everyone else, this was the one thing that I could do for myself.
Looking back at my “journey,” there are so many lessons from fitness which I now regularly apply to all aspects of my life: the principle of being comfortable with being uncomfortable; progressive overloading to avoid plateauing in the pursuit of progress; the raw, honest discipline of simply showing up, even on days you feel like doing nothing. My life has completely changed–from what I eat and put into my body to fuel my workouts, to coordinating my schedule to accommodate twice-weekly strength training, yoga, and pilates (working out is a meeting you have with yourself). I even told my instructor the other day, “if I don’t do yoga at least once a week, I feel unwell.”
Among all of these perceptual shifts, the highest form of gratitude that I embrace every day is the gift of physical and mental health. Amidst all the chaos and uncertainty in the world, rarely is there a phenomenon that delivers an exact output for every bit of effort that you put in; rarely is there a promise of linear progression. Despite a lifetime of believing in art, it turns out it was science that gave me an ultimate certainty.