I was very active as a child. Running, cycling, rollerblading, volleyball… Every day brought endless opportunities to run around somewhere with my friends and move my body. I didn’t care about how I looked, how red my face became and how my messy my hair got. All that exercise was so much fun. I loved it.
But, when I hit puberty, something changed. Exercise became a chore. Something I had to do to slim my fat thighs and waist and get rid of the cellulite that had quickly become to take over my body. Something I had to do alone, because I was ashamed to let other people see how awful I looked all huffed and puffed.
I went through days when I would really push myself. No pain, no gain, right? My body wasn’t tired, just lazy, right? I could do an extra mile of running, or ten more push-ups, right? And so I did. And, afterwards, I would feel so awful. Both physically and mentally drained.