How the Husband Entered the Chat—and I Met My Deltoids

Dear Body,

Oh my gosh, what exactly did we do when we started this blog?

It turns out we got everybody invested in this journey.

I cannot hide anymore.

Every few days, someone asks:

“Ehe, how many kilos down?”

“Are you doing keto?”

“Have you tried intermittent fasting?”

And my personal favourite so far:

“Honey, no bumming around this weekend. We are going to the gym.”

Excuse me?

How did I become we?

And that, dear people, is how the husband entered the chat.

Saturday morning arrived, and there we were, getting ready to go to the gym as a couple.

What happened to date brunch? What happened to morning mimosas? What happened to dressing nicely, finding a sunny table and ordering something delicious that required absolutely no squatting?

This almost-fifty romance is something else.

Flowers? No.

Champagne? Not today.

Apparently, the new love language is:

“Come on, you have three more reps.”

Romantic? Not particularly.

Effective? Unfortunately, yes.

And leg day it was. That is how our first gym date began: squats, lunges and all the other exercises designed to make sitting down the following day feel like a carefully planned operation.

I thought working out together might feel strange. It did not. We actually had a really good time.

Hubby was a great cheerleader. He encouraged me, celebrated every completed set and kept reminding me that I was stronger than I thought.

Unfortunately, he also turned out to be a rather strict gym instructor.

There was no escaping a set. There was no reducing ten repetitions to eight and hoping nobody noticed. There was no staring thoughtfully into the distance while pretending to recover.

This time, someone was watching.

He corrected my form, counted every repetition and cheered me on until I completed every set exactly as agreed.

Marriage vows, it seems, now include supervising lunges.

By the end of the session, I was tired, happy, accomplished and possibly slightly delirious. I had gone to the gym with my husband and come home having recruited a new instructor.

For free.

Although I suspect there will eventually be some discussion about compensation.

In what form?

Sisemi kitu.

When you start the week on such a high, it cannot possibly get better, can it?

Oh, but it can.

Because this week, I hit every milestone.

Every. Single. One.

Four structured workouts. More than 12,000 steps a day on average, and over 10,000 on all seven days.

Twelve thousand steps, people!

Do you remember when 10,000 steps sounded like something invented by Garmin to make ordinary people feel inadequate? Kumbe, people actually do it.

And this week, I became one of those slightly irritating people who passes 10,000 steps and then casually checks her watch to see whether she can squeeze in a few more.

I would like to say this happened because I have finally developed extraordinary discipline.

But we all know the truth.

I made my private promise public, and now too many people are watching. Friends are asking for progress reports. Readers are waiting for the next post. My husband has joined the programme. Even Garmin Dearest appears emotionally invested.

There is nowhere left to hide.

And as if all that were not enough evidence that things are changing, I have also become the kind of person who knows words like deltoid.

A deltoid, for those of you who have not yet reached this advanced stage of your fitness education, is the large muscle that covers the shoulder.

I know this because mine have started introducing themselves.

Until recently, my understanding of anatomy was fairly straightforward. You know, like the nyama choma menu at Road House:

Mkono.

Mguu.

Mbavu.

Arm. Leg. Ribs.

Simple, familiar body parts. Nothing requiring a diagram, a personal trainer or a Google search. And, of course, the knees—the department responsible for most formal complaints.

But now I know about adductors, abductors, glutes (which, I am told, are not called bums in the gym) and deltoids.

Deltoid, by the way, is a fantastic seven-letter word for Scrabble lovers like me.

Soon, I may be walking around the gym discussing muscle groups and correcting people’s form.

Let us not get ahead of ourselves.

For now, I am simply enjoying the fact that movement is no longer something I have to negotiate with myself every single day. It is becoming part of my life.

Some weeks I will hit every target. Other weeks I will not.

But this week?

This week, we celebrate.

Four structured workouts.

More than 12,000 steps a day.

One husband successfully recruited into the accountability committee.

And a brand-new vocabulary word.

Dear Body, look at us.

We may not have all the answers yet, and the scale may still be taking its sweet time preparing the official progress report.

But something is happening.

We are stronger.

We are more consistent.

And apparently, we now have deltoids.

Yours—exceeding the step goal and apparently part of a fitness couple now,

Me