
Last Saturday, I did something I hadn’t done in almost ten months: I played golf. Not because I forgot the sport existed, but because I live in Arizona — where summer temperatures hover somewhere between why is this allowed and absolutely not. I love golf, but I draw the line at slow-roasting myself at 110 degrees.
So I waited. And waited. And finally, a reasonable day showed up.
Out on the course, everything felt surprisingly good. The weather was perfect. My swing wasn’t terrible. I made it through all 18 holes. I felt victorious.
Then I got home — and my body had opinions.
By the end of the day, I was moving like someone who had aged a few decades during the car ride. Muscles I didn’t know existed were suddenly very invested in this conversation. For the next several days, my main form of movement involved standing up slowly and questioning my choices.
Just when I thought that was the end of it, my health app sent me a helpful little notification suggesting that based on my recent activity levels, I might be at risk of falling within the next year.
Within the next year? After watching me climb out of the car post-golf, I felt like that assessment was being generous.
That was my wake-up call.
So this week, I eased back in with twenty minutes of Pilates. Which reminded me that balance is not automatic, core muscles do not work on good intentions alone, and apparently breathing counts as effort now. Still, it felt good to start again — gently, realistically, and without heatstroke.
Golf is absolutely back on the schedule. Just not during months when stepping outside feels like opening an oven door. The Arizona heat may control the season, but it doesn’t get to control my health.
I’m sharing this because it’s easy to drift out of routines without noticing — until one day you try to do something that used to feel effortless and your body stages a quiet rebellion. Restarting can be humbling, but it’s also entirely possible.
Last weekend: golf.
This week: Pilates.
Next: something else — preferably done at a temperature suitable for humans.
I’m choosing momentum. Even if it starts a little stiff.
And if you’re ever curious about the things I actually use to support this slower, more intentional rhythm — at home, while traveling, or just getting back into motion — I keep them organized in one place so they’re easy to find.
Living the soft life, one luxury moment at a time
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