We are like two crazy people, playing with the fire of passion.
There’s this constant tug of war, the teasing whenever time allows, and somehow, in those moments, we live in a world of our own.
The restrictions and the lines are vividly drawn. We know exactly where they are. And yet, within our words and the moments we share, there is a certain freedom.
Maybe it’s simply an acknowledgement and acceptance of what is, what could have been, and what should never be.
Still, here we are—two crazy people, playing with fire.
To love is to breathe—to feel freely, while respecting the boundaries that have been drawn.❤️
A month ago, I sat in a cold clinic room, waiting. I had just finished an hour-long EMG test—a grueling experience that felt less like a medical exam and more like a slow form of torture. When the specialist finally spoke, the news was heavy: Grade 3 Carpal Tunnel Syndrome in my right hand, and Grade 2 in my left. Usually, Grade 3 is a direct ticket to the operating table. But then, the doctor paused, looking puzzled. “In most cases, we suggest surgery for Grade 3,” he said. “But in your case, we’re opting for a steroid injection first. You still have full motor function. No muscle wasting, no loss of strength in your thumb. Honestly… we’re wondering what you’ve been doing to protect your hands. Most people at this stage have already lost their grip.” I answered calmly: “I do strength training. I lift heavy with a coach.”
A Shield, Not a Cure
It is important to be clear: strength training didn’t “cure” my Carpal Tunnel. The sensory damage—the numbness that started last September—is real. It’s right there on the EMG. But what the iron has done is provide a biological shield. Nineteen months ago, my coach Jonathan started me on a path of strict posture and heavy weights. Back then, it was about my knees—cartilage loss, edema, and cysts that made a simple squat feel impossible. Within a month, the pain was gone. Now, that same commitment to strength is showing its value in my hands.
The Mystery of the Numbness
When the numbness started in my right hand last September, it didn’t fit the standard “profile” for Carpal Tunnel. My grip was strong. My hands were functional. In fact, I noticed something weird: the numbness actually felt better after I trained. The EMG finally solved the mystery. While my sensory nerves were showing significant damage (the numbness), my motor nerves—the ones that control movement and power—were almost untouched. The doctor’s advice was simple: “Continue what you are doing. It is slowing down the progression.”
The Critical Role of the Coach
I couldn’t have done this alone. When you are dealing with nerve damage or “nightmare” knees, you cannot afford to guess. You need a coach like Jonathan—someone who is “scary” about the details because he knows the stakes. A great coach doesn’t just give you a workout; they provide the technical guardrails that allow you to lift heavy enough to stimulate growth without aggravating your condition. Jonathan’s insistence on perfect form is the reason I can squat with no cartilage and grip a barbell with Grade 3 Carpal Tunnel. He didn’t just teach me to lift; he taught me how to protect my longevity.
Conclusion
Strength training is a tool for preservation, but only if executed with precision. It may not always reverse the clock or erase a diagnosis, but it can significantly slow the descent. By keeping the muscles around my nerves strong and my body active, I have turned a “surgical emergency” into a “manageable situation.” We lift not just to get better, but to stay capable. If you are facing a “downhill slope” with your health, don’t just wait for the bottom. Find a coach who demands excellence, and build the strength to slow the slide.
Last night, I did my progressive test training — the test that almost every one of Jonathan’s ( you can follow him or check his ig profile jonathan_elevatecoaching) clients knows means living on the edge (and questioning life choices).
Those leg day ..
For the last 18 months, I’ve been grateful to have a coach who pushes me, lets me curse him, believes in me, and somehow still earns my trust that every week I am looking forward of our session
Starting assisted pull ups with inverted grip .. I am 53 why ?
As I powered through those painful supersets, I looked back and realized these 18 months have been a journey of consistency, brutal core exercises, sore muscles, and new gym buddies — the kind you just exchange fist bumps with and keep moving. Yes, I look good, feel good, and I’m grateful to have a badass coach.
Again and again, I’m a full believer in getting yourself a coach for better guidance and results — or at the very least, keep moving and lift if possible. So, to me: happy 18 months. And thank you, coach. 💪🔥
Yep getting stronger .. to be able to keep doing what I love most indepemdently walking , and playing with my dog
“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again—because there is no effort without error and shortcoming—but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms and great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who, at best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who, at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.” —Theodore Roosevelt, 1910 Man in the Arena
I love this quote so much. I first encountered it while reading Daring Greatly by Brené Brown, and it has stayed with me ever since.
In a modern society where image often holds more value than authenticity, this quote speaks volumes. It reminds us that what matters most is not the critics—nor those who stand safely on the sidelines, pointing out flaws and offering commentary from a distance.
What matters is you.
You—showing up. You—stepping into the arena. You—navigating your journey with courage, imperfection, and authenticity.
You know your story. You know your passion. You know your purpose. So let me say this clearly: you are doing okay. By showing up. By facing the struggles. By surviving the day-to-day hustle. You matter.
And the small victories matter too.
Let us keep our courage, authenticity, passion, and purpose shining— even in a world driven by algorithms.
YOU ARE AWESOME ❤️
Let us try to feel compassion but not.pity . Let us try to be kind and respect bounderies
Hold on for a second—this is one of those exercises that confronts my aging. Yes, I said it. Aging.
This movement challenges not just strength, but balance. And for women, as we grow riper (not older—just riper and far more interesting), our reflexes and balance can quietly decline. That’s often where the risk of falling sneaks in.
In my case, years of running cost me knee cartilage, which weakened my knee mobility. Enter Jonathan Deuninck, my coach you can follow him in instagram too ( jonathan_elevatecoaching he gives interesting tips ) —the one who pushes, corrects, adjusts, and makes sure I’m actually hitting the muscles that need strengthening, not just surviving the movement.
With the Bulgarian split squat, we train the glutes, quadriceps, and core—the very muscles that help us stay strong, stable, and upright in life. Yesterday, he was kind. He let me carry only 4 kg on each side instead of 10. Kindness comes in many forms. 😉
Perimenopause and menopause add yet another dimension to a woman’s life. Not a limitation—just a new terrain.
So let’s live life at its full potential. Let’s maximize moments with joy. Let’s choose to grow stronger instead of more fragile.
To those who can—find yourself a good coach. And to all of us: keep moving, keep lifting, keep showing up.
Strength is not just physical. It’s a lifelong practice.
Disclaimer I am adding a link not because I am.paid but because I believe in the beauty of coaching
“Striving valiantly in the arena, facing challenges, and daring to try, even if one fails.” – Theodore Roosevelt
Victory is not always about triumph; sometimes, it is simply the courage to keep going, to face our own imperfections with love and acceptance. At times, life takes unexpected turns that carry us higher than we ever imagined.
Santorini. The pandemic had just begun to ease, borders carefully reopening, and after two long years of isolation, it was my first journey back into the world. The island was almost empty, its silence amplifying its beauty.
One afternoon, Jen, Ralla, and I decided to walk from Akrotiri to Emporio, a trail of about 7 kilometers. By the time we arrived, our feet were heavy, and our bodies tired. Jen sat down to rest and asked us to capture photos she could post later.
As Ralla prepared the camera, my eyes caught a beautiful church nearby. Its roof looked climbable, and I thought to myself—this could be the perfect place for a once-in-a-lifetime shot, with the caldera standing boldly behind me.
Without a second thought, I leapt, climbed, and stood tall on that rooftop. “Take the shot now!” I called out. The result was stunning: a woman standing with confidence against the wide-open sky. But what the picture didn’t show was what I felt inside—the rush of fear as the wind brushed past me, the trembling thought that I might fall. And yet, beneath that fear, a quiet voice whispered: Hold still. You got this.
And I did.
Reflection Life often places us on rooftops we never expected to climb. From the outside, others may see only strength, beauty, and confidence. But inside, we may be battling fear, doubt, or the wind that threatens to unsteady us. Courage is not the absence of fear—it is the choice to stay, to trust, to hold still in the moment and whisper to ourselves, You got this.
In the end, the most powerful victories are not in how the world sees us, but in how we rise above our inner storms and dare to stand tall—imperfect, yet unshaken.
To hold still and not giving up is the truest meaning of Victory
Silent smiles, downward winks— a pulse, a rush of something unnamed. A glimpse of love, the hush of peace, the soft sunrise of hope.
Little triumphs shimmer within this golden cage— a secret handshake, a quiet nod of assurance.
Tiny joys, quiet victories, rippling through my chest, nourishing the fragile thread of hope. I gather them— my moments, my space, my sacred souvenirs from the life that almost was.
A life shaped before I knew how to shape one for myself.
jee426 