I Got in the Best Shape of My Life Completely by Accident

On a bleak January day two years ago, I stepped into a gym for the first time in more than a decade. I had zero intention of fulfilling a New Year’s resolution, losing weight or getting in the best shape of my life. But that’s exactly what ended up happening. 

I had always been curious about boxing, so I did what plenty of parents do: signed my kid up for a class. Since we were already there, I decided to stick around and try the adult class that followed. I liked it enough to go back, but figured I’d just sign up until the weather was nice enough to do outdoor activities. A few weeks later, my son quit. I didn’t.

I’ve never been much of a gym person. I got into fitness reluctantly, coming from a family where no one played sports. And the only time I’d ever thrown a punch in my life was in college, when my roommates and I did some Tae Bo workouts on tape. 

But boxing fascinated me. The workouts were never the same twice, and it wasn’t just about throwing punches (although that was a great stress reliever). You need strength and speed, stamina and footwork. 

The first time I picked up a jump rope, I couldn’t last 30 seconds. I had never done a burpee in my life. I felt so awkward and self-conscious in group classes where everyone else seemed to know what they were doing. I was just trying to avoid knocking myself out with a dumbbell. But I didn’t let my embarrassment get the better of me. I kept reminding myself that’s why I was here. I jumped rope facing a wall with a decal that became my mantra: “In boxing, as in life, defeat is not declared when you get knocked down, but when you fail to get up.” 

I was coming off a period of being knocked down. After a bad breakup, I had spent two years feeling depressed and barely leaving my house. But now, I looked forward to going to the gym. I always left feeling better than when I came in—even if I still couldn’t last long on the jump rope. And gradually, almost without noticing, I got better at it. I was lighter on my feet, snapping my punches, and one day, I noticed that my clothes fit looser. I was shocked to realize I had dropped 10 pounds just by showing up to a one-hour class three times a week. 

The weather warmed up, but I had no intention of stopping. I was having too much fun—and always had a new goal to work toward. I still remember the first time I was able to crank out 10 pushups in a row. Me! The same girl who could never pass the Presidential Fitness test. I started running on days when we didn’t have class, and before long, I was lapping the guys and killing it at sprints. I even signed up for salsa lessons solely to improve my footwork.

Regular exercise was having an effect on everything in my life. My body craved healthier fuel, so I found myself eating more salads, smoothies and lean protein. When I noticed how even a single night of drinking affected my performance the next day, suddenly I didn’t want wine with dinner. And after living in sweats for almost two years, I treated myself to a wardrobe of fun workout gear that I could coordinate with my boxing gloves. 

Less than a year after I signed up at that gym, I was stronger than I had ever been in my life. I had visible abs for the first time. Defined arms. More energy than I’d had in years. And a vibrant social life with all the fitness-minded friends I’d made along the way. We signed up for races together—and I ran one that had been on my bucket list since I was in college. I’d never been fit enough to try it before, but now, at age 45, I finally was. 

There was no mystical secret to my transformation. If you had told me on my first day—when I was struggling to turn a jump rope—that this would be the outcome, I don’t think I would ever have believed it. But just one small change after another added up. So now, whenever I see someone new at the gym who looks intimidated, I make sure to tell them what my coach told me: There’s only one thing you have to do to reach your goal. Show up.