I stared down at my splayed fingers, firmly positioned on a blue green yoga matt swirling with inspirational print motifs. My toes gripping, and my abdomen and chest firmly planked, I slowly lowered myself down and back up, feeling the burn begin in my shoulders, arms, and wrists. These are your standard variety push-ups, not “girl” push-ups as my husband noted. Sometimes I can knock all twenty out in one fell swoop; sometimes I struggle as I reach fifteen, wanting so much to just collapse down into the infinite loop de loops on the yoga matt., I do these AFTER I have finished rowing and running, so my body is already challenged and steeped in lactic acid. I started this routine in 2019, well before the COVID crisis, as my version of exercise therapy to foster good mental health. 2019 was a challenging year for me even before COVID hit. It started in January when I watched through tears, my baby boy all dressed up in his Army gear, get on a plane for boot camp where he would be throwing grenades and working with nuclear, radiologic, and biologic weaponry, in addition to enduring the grueling physical challenges of initiation. With communication sparse during this time period, it was an emotional separation that tried a mom’s soul. My daughter’s wedding also happened in 2019 (thankfully before COVID), and planning a long-distance event, while a nice diversion to my son, was emotionally charged in other ways. Looking at the beautiful and successful and kind woman she had become; you guessed it, more tears. Throw in moving a parent into assisted living at the other end of the country when she doesn’t want to go, and a build out for a new office space while you’re still working, and you have yourself a “full plate”. Always in search of healthy ways to make it through challenging times, exercise is my go to. Studies have shown it can be as effective as antidepressants in some cases, and it’s also a good addition to any anti-anxiety regimen. For me the push-ups became my spiritual tie to my son when I could not talk to him. I knew he was doing push-ups. Lots of them. Surely, I could do twenty. It was also my reminder to myself of returning to a more restored life after reconstruction from breast cancer. Initially your chest feels so foreign, and the muscles contract in new and strange ways. This was MY WAY of taking back what I wanted to be. The thing about the push-ups that confounds me, however, is that they are NOT getting any easier. Every night, I still struggle to get to the end of my count, wondering when my outer muscle strength is going to catch up with my inner strength. As I hovered at rest last night before dipping into number 19, it dawned on me that this push up dilemma is a lot like our current world/country crisis. We keep wearing masks, and washing our hands, and things should be getting easier, but they seem to stay the same. Hmmmmm. My thinking is this: there are some things that come along that are really, really hard. COVID, civil unrest, and natural disasters are really, really hard regardless of what you believe about them. And things that are really, really hard require strength, determination, and hope, not abandonment. So, tonight, I will drop down and give someone 20, and be grateful when I reach that 20, even if it’s still really, really hard. Wishing you health and peace, Lisa Lowry