Reformed Body Bully

and Richard Simmons' Enduring Magic

Reformed Body Bully

and Richard Simmons’ Enduring Magic

Have you ever noticed that those post-dead-of-night and pre-sunrise dreams are like fortune cookies? They always come with messages. As I type this, my left ear is ringing, which means someone’s happy I am sharing mine from this morning.

The dream was an inside-out meditation that seemed simple, even mundane, but was peace-evoking medicine.

I wish I remembered every step, could recite it to you in audio form, but after feeding pets and brewing coffee all I’m left with is the gist. And if you are driving a vehicle? Why the heck are you reading a substack post and trying to meditate? Please save this for later when you are safe.

If you are safe and secure, breathe into your belly and exhale, feeling other pressures of the day slough off and fall away for the time being. Breathe in again and be present in this moment. Let the air expand your lungs and pulse through your bloodstream. Then exhale out any sticky energy that no longer serves.

Continue to breathe in and out at a pace your body loves. Settle into yourself. Feel into your skin, your bones and blood, and your spine that holds everything upright. Think about this human vessel you reside in for a time. Most of modern life cloys us to escape into a screen, vaporize into cyber-ethers, but this inside-out meditation reminds us to reside deep within our physical selves.

Imagine you stand naked in front of a mirror. Look at yourself straight on and listen to the voices in your head. What thoughts form? Criticisms? Complaints? Bring those sentiments out into the open.

Now imagine those critics are talking about your oldest, dearest friend, your body. This body has been with you since your first day of this life and will be with you until your eyes shut for the final time. How dare anyone speak to it the way your brain just did.

Think now of what your body has endured. A twelve-hour shift at work standing up? Did it bounce back from a tenacious virus? Or cancer? My body gave birth to two beautiful humans, then fed them for a time. Maybe yours has relearned to walk after a car accident? Or endured a dry January? Adjusted to a new time zone?

Like a Cat Stevens lyric, let the power and grace and endurance of your body come to be known, really feel into it. Let those emotions ripple out and push away all else until all that remains is gratitude and deep, unwavering love.

Feel into that warm sensation. Let it course up and down your spine, flow into your cells and bone marrow and breath. Listen as it whispers beneath your heartbeat.

Exhale deep and say, I love you, body. Thank you old friend.

*****

I hope that little inside-out meditation has restored your connection to your physical self.

As a small child, the body and spirit connection was effortless. I was tireless, riding my bike for hours with pals, or running with my stepdad, or participating in any sport my school offered. My body and me were best friends.

At fifteen an exchange with my mother changed all that and it took me to fifty to undo the damage.

I had just returned to the house from a run along the river. As I poured a glass of water in the kitchen, my mother said, “I’ll pay you to lose weight. A nickel a pound. How’s that sound?”

The offer knocked the air out of my chest, and in that moment, I was ashamed. Why would she say that? What did she see that I’d been oblivious to up until that moment?

From then on the sub track to my waking hours was, do I look fat? Will this outfit fool people into thinking I am skinny? I would eat and categorize myself as bad or good depending on the intake. I even went so far as to go on a diet with specific foods that, yes, left me thirty pounds thinner. But, it would take my guts close to a year to fully recover from the strange mix of over-processed foods.

Then I moved part time to Colorado. Just days into the journey, I noticed that most folks were training to summit one of fourteen iconic mountains in the state. They called the peaks, fourteeners. I decided to train for what I called my four weiners, small peaks. I dusted off my hiking boots and out I went.

I learned that my mind gave up miles before my body did. The first bit of any trail was hard, so I let myself rant and whine but never let myself quit. And what I found? I am strong. This body carries me five or seven or ten miles on a trail and craves more. I found myself thanking my body after hikes. I’d thank my heart, lungs and muscles that recovered fast.

Pretty soon, there was no room for that mean girl in my head.

When she showed up, I pushed her away, reminding her this body she was lying about gave me two miraculous humans. It had recovered from a systemic infection. It was my dearest friend and I would no longer allow anyone, not even myself, to bad-mouth it.

Which brings me to Richard Simmons, that electric icon of the 70s and 80s. He danced his way into many a heart in a stretchy red suit on television. His technicolor enthusiasm hardly fit on that small screen. He encouraged people to shake their booties and feel good! On top of flare, he was authentic, sharing his struggles with weight and depression on many talk shows, offering a path to a better tomorrow.

His candid conversations with the public continued on Twitter until the day before he passed away in July 2024. Among his tips was this gem. Before bed take time to point and flex your feet, rolling out your ankles a few times. He promised that one small action would make for a better night’s sleep, and he was right. I do this every evening and it works.

Getting back in touch with our physical bodies might seem like mundane magic, but it is potent, powerful stuff. Try it this week. And if some sticky stuff from your past bubbles up, please picture that I am right there with you in support to kiss it goodbye. If that’s not enough, picture Richard Simmons on the other side of you showing that past the exit with a wave and a smile.

As always, written and offered in love. <3 Jennifer

I always loved the way Cat Stevens spoke of his body in his song, Miles from Nowhere. Give it a listen and then wrap your arms around yourself in a bear hug.

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