By Kimber Daley of Let’s Do Some Good Today

One day, I was on the treadmill at the gym.

Important side note: I never, ever thought that I would begin a story that way.

You know those people who love working out? Who participated in sports in high school and college? Whose Facebook posts are full of their fastest mile time and longest plank?

Yeah. That’s me. Only exactly the opposite.

Not only have I always been uncoordinated and unathletic, but I’ve never had the slightest desire to improve those skills. (Okay, that’s a lie. I tried out for the high school soccer team. My mom excitedly bought me the cleats and the shin guards that I asked for, and after two of the most dismal weeks of my high school experience, I took them off for good.)

But I realized that I didn’t care. I was healthy, I was happy, and I didn’t feel the need for the endorphins that athletic people claimed exercise gave them. (Really? REALLY? Sweating and exhausting yourself makes you happy? Awesome, you do you. I’ll be on my couch with a book and a snack. Have fun.)

And then, several years ago, the pain began.

Then began the endless quest for answers, for help, and for hope. My search involved doctors, chiropractors, physical therapists, surgeries, medication, and diet changes. And soon, I was haunted by the almost overwhelmingly crushing depression that comes from being in chronic pain so severe, I could barely walk. I finally made a decision that ripped my heart in half: at age 29, I had a full hysterectomy. The dream of having five babies was sacrificed for the sake of the two precious children that I had already been blessed with, but was almost incapable of caring for.

I had the surgery. I waited to bounce back and feel better.

But … I didn’t. Not really.

I felt a bit healthier. I felt a big stronger. But my body was so depleted, my heart was so heavy, I found myself just … empty.

In desperation, I decided to do what I have never enjoyed. What I’ve never been good at.

I began walking.

We purchased a treadmill, and after several days of staring at it, I gingerly stepped on. I turned it on and set it to one mile per hour. I walked for three minutes. I then climbed off, curled up in a painful ball on the floor, and wept.

Fast forward a year, to where this story begins.

On the treadmill at the gym.

Our original treadmill had broken, and I realized that the cost of a monthly gym membership was enough to motivate me to get walking. (Plus, you know. Childcare. And an hour of quiet.) I began very slowly. Even the “light workout” recommended by my chiropractor (15 minutes at 3.5 miles per hour) seemed impossible. But I turned the treadmill on and started moving.

And a few months later, I could walk without pain.

Not every day, and not gracefully, and not for very long.

But sometimes, I could do it.

And then came the evening that stopped me in my tracks. (Not literally, luckily. That would have been pretty awkward. Funny, but awkward.) As I was walking, feeling pretty good about myself, I looked around me and realized that almost every treadmill was full. And everyone was running.

Every single person.

Except me.

I was plugging along at my happy 3.5 miles per hour.

I was … just walking.

And suddenly, I was ready to cry.

Certainly the people around me were struggling a bit. No one looked effortless in their workout attempts. I could hear people gasping for breath, I could see the tired faces and the wearying bodies. Even so, I felt as if I were surrounded by superheroes who could do what I could only dream of. Or perhaps more accurately … normal, everyday people, doing a normal, everyday activity … that I could only dream of.

Not only was I feeling inadequate, but I was terribly embarrassed. I was sure that everyone around me was wondering what was wrong with the clumsy girl walking on the treadmill. “Who in the world comes to the gym just to … walk?” “How lazy can you get?” “Really? That’s the best she can do?”

And my head was full of rebuttals for these silent accusations.

“You have NO IDEA how long and hard my journey has been. You have no idea how broken my body is. You have no idea how many issues I’m battling in this moment. You weren’t there a year ago when I was in too much pain to even stand up straight. You have no idea how big of a deal it is for me to be able to just walk.”

Bravely and defiantly, I looked around me, bracing myself for the accusing stares.

And I met the eyes of … no one.

Because no one was looking.

No one was judging.

NO ONE.

No one, that is, but me.

My only critic was … me. The voice whispering, “You’re not as good as these people, and you probably never will be. Look at them, and look at you. You might as well stop trying.” That was mine.

I looked around one more time. Then I looked at the monitor of the treadmill and realized something.

I had been walking at 3.5 miles an hour for 15 minutes.

I had done it.

Me, who – a year before – was curled in a ball on my bedroom floor, sobbing.

That shattered woman had picked up the broken pieces of her heart, and the broken pieces of her body, and the broken pieces of her mind that depression and anxiety had tried to destroy.

I had done this every day, miraculous thing.

And there, surrounded by people who were running, I did one of the most remarkable things that I have ever done.

I walked five more minutes.

And here’s what I want you to know. As you walk today – wherever or however you walk – and you look at others running around you, you might feel discouraged.

But I have a secret for you.

Your best? It is enough.

Don’t look left. Don’t look right. Don’t compare your journey to anyone else’s.

Just celebrate in your own victory today.

And then maybe, just maybe, dig down deep …

And find that you can walk for five more minutes.

*********

About the Author

Kimber is a wife, a mom, and an aspiring writer who lives in beautiful Colorado. She isn’t sure if she’s more of an introvert who prefers quiet time alone to read and write, or an extrovert who wants to be at book club or Disneyland. She tries to make a difference in the world where she can, whether that means assembling hygiene kits for the homeless or packing shoeboxes for Operation Christmas Child. She shares her ideas at www.LetsDoSomeGoodToday.com, and she’d love to have you join her Facebook community!