I recorded a podcast episode with Christine last week. We talked about our plans for the Fall, and one of mine is getting back to exercise. I felt a little sheepish because, not long ago, I talked about how well my gym habit was going.

Until it wasn’t.

I’ve struggled to establish an exercise habit my entire life so I have a fair amount of shame about falling off the wagon this time. My husband is on a rocket-speed fitness journey of his own which pokes at my insecurities even more.

But I’m also 50, and my internal script is changing. I’m gentler with myself. Less prone to berating myself for failures, because, at this point, I know some failures aren’t failures at all, just “I haven’t found what works yet.”

Pollyanna? Maybe. But I don’t care how it sounds. Another gift of 50.

This morning, I laced up my shoes, ignored the butterflies in my stomach, and went for a 10-minute run. When I was out of breath, I walked. When I was ready, I ran again. I came home energized and proud, even though it was a tiny step.

But it was a step in the right direction.