Can I want to change my body without hating the body I have?

My brain doesn’t help. I have a habit of over-analysing things and most days, I hate the reflection starring back at me in the mirror. Every time I look in the mirror, I can conduct a full assessment of what I like, what I don’t like and what I might change.Some days I look at myself and feel pretty good, but other days, I can pick apart almost everything.

I don’t mind my curves, but then I’ll do lots of cardio and notice that my legs look a little thinner, although they don’t feel quite as strong. So I start lifting heavier weights, my legs get stronger and then, in my slightly over-analytical mind, they start looking bulky … and round we go. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be completely happy with how I look.

Then I wonder something even more interesting: what would make me happy?

I’m not sure I know and that’s the reason for this post.

Progress for me is feeling stronger, seeing a reduction in the size of my saddlebags and having someone say, “You’re looking great.” Even if I don’t quite believe them. That’s the slightly ridiculous thing about my crazy brain, I can badly want the reassurance, but then immediately question whether the person saying it really means it. But at the same time, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me feel good.

Spin has been my happy place since January. There’s something about cranking up the resistance, pedalling until my legs give in, and singing Ivana Spagna’s Call Me off-key at the back of the room with a chorus of like-minded ladies that makes me feel alive.

My brain is usually doing several things at once. I can be thinking about work, what needs doing at home, whether I remembered to reply to that message, what I’m having for dinner and, for reasons known only to my brain, something completely unrelated that happened three days ago. Spin gives it somewhere else to go for 45 minutes.

Once the music starts and the resistance goes up, there isn’t much room for overthinking. I’m just concentrating on the beat, the bike, my breathing and whether I can keep going when my legs are telling me that this was, quite clearly, a terrible idea. And I love that.

There’s also something slightly liberating about being at the back of the room. I can sing badly, sweat profusely and pedal like I’m auditioning for a very niche 1990s fitness video without worrying too much about how I look. Although, obviously, I still manage to think about how I look and that’s the funny contradiction.

I can spend part of the day analysing my body in the mirror, wondering whether my legs look slimmer or bulkier, and then spend an hour on a bike making them work as hard as they possibly can. That is why Spin has become such a happy place for me. For that hour, my body isn’t something I’m inspecting, instead, it’s something I’m using.

I’m not thinking about whether my thighs look big. I’m thinking about getting up the hill without looking down and realising my legs are going the speed of slow motion. I’m not wondering whether my stomach looks flatter though. I’m wondering whether I can push the resistance one more notch.

Even on tired days, I leave feeling stronger, lighter and ready for whatever the week throws at me. My brain might still be full of stuff, but for 45 minutes, at least, it has one job to do.

Three times a week, I go to the gym with H because, quite simply, he is better at it than me. He’s been bench-pressing and doing pull-ups for years, and I’m still learning my way around the machines. Watching him train is actually a bit inspiring. His stamina is impressive, as is his determination to keep going heavier each time.

Sometimes, though, that determination also makes me slightly nervous. He’ll add more weight and I’m immediately thinking, Really? More? Is that actually a good idea? How much are you planning to lift? This is where my brain can be both fascinated and slightly alarmed at the same time. I’m in awe of how strong he is and how much he can push himself, while simultaneously worrying about how much he is actually doing. I do think I have muscle-envy though.

Of course, there’s another reason I love going with him. Time in the gym with H is probably the best date session I could ask for. Forget dinner and a film. Give me an hour alongside my husband, both of us doing our own thing, occasionally checking what the other is up to, having a laugh and then leaving together feeling like we’ve done something amazing. There’s something very nice about that, so H has been showing me the ropes.

It sounds very straightforward until you put me, H and my crazy brain in the same gym. It feels a bit like learning to drive with L plates on all over again, with H sitting beside me as my instructor. Except …. H isn’t the world’s most patient instructor, and I am not the world’s most attentive learner. He’ll explain which machine to use, where to put the pin, what weight to start with and how many reps I should do. I’ll nod along confidently and then, approximately thirty seconds later, forget half of what he has said, or do it wrong, or both.

But slowly, something started to change. I began to recognise the machines. I sort of knew what I was doing and I could remember the settings. That’s when I started lifting heavier. And then a few of my gym friends, who usually stick to the classes, started asking me for help with the machines. I did a double-take. Who, me? Me showing you how to use the machines? The same me who was still learning from H? But apparently, yes.

That moment felt like real progress, because I suddenly became a gym expert – let’s not get carried away – but because I’d gone from needing someone to show me what to do to being someone another person trusted enough to ask. I loved that. My brain really likes being useful, it likes helping and having something to give back. And, if I’m honest, it REALLY likes feeling appreciated. So standing there showing my friends what I’d learned gave me a little buzz.

Maybe progress isn’t always something you see in the mirror. Sometimes it’s the moment you realise you’ve learned enough to help someone else …. although I’m still trying to catch up with H and I’m still keeping an eye on how much weight he’s putting on that bar too!

Yoga isn’t something I naturally opt for. My brain is much happier with Body Combat, where I can punch the hell out of something and wait for those lovely endorphins to turn up and make everything in the world just feel slightly more manageable. Relaxing doesn’t come naturally to me either.

My brain doesn’t really do empty. Give it five minutes of quiet space and it will happily produce a list of things I need to remember, something I forgot to do yesterday and a completely unrelated thought about something that happened in 1997.

So when my friend Catherine told me she was training to become a yoga teacher, I was first in line to help with her lunch-time session. But only because I like helping people. If a friend is learning something new and needs a willing victim to practise on, I’m usually there. I mean, how hard could yoga be? Quite hard, as it turns out.

I am not the most balanced individual at the best of times, and doing yoga feels a bit like someone has switched off my internal stabilisers. I wobble, sway, shake and sometimes lose my concentration and fall in a heap laughing at myself. I am not a warrior or a swan in this class!  I admit that I have absolutely no idea what my body is supposed to be doing.

Soft music playing … and my brain is busy trying to remember what I had for breakfast, wondering when I need to go back to work, and contemplating whether I remembered to pay money into the childcare account by the deadline. None of this is conducive to inner peace.

Catherine was brilliant. She gave me only three things to concentrate on: Hold the pose, find my balance and breathe. That’s it. Three very simple instructions. But for my brain, that’s a full project plan. When I actually managed to stop thinking about everything else for long enough to hold a pose, find my balance and breathe, I felt ridiculously pleased with myself, and that’s what I liked about it. Although I found slowing down incredibly tough because my brain just doesn’t understand the concept of just relax, so that was the hardest exercise of all.

Saturdays are when my brain decides I am about to become a meal-prepping genius. I’ll watch a load of Instagram videos of people batch-cooking on a Sunday afternoon, chopping vegetables into neat little containers and somehow having seven perfectly organised meals lined up in the fridge. I’m sold.

This is brilliant, it will save me so much time. Why have I not been doing this all my life? For about twenty minutes, I have a whole new system … and then, I don’t do it. Instead, I go shopping, fill the fridge with green things and other healthy food that seemed like an excellent idea at the time, and move on to whatever my brain has decided is more interesting … usually my blog.

A few days later, H is reminding me that I might want to eat the spinach before its sell-by date. This is the reality of my version of meal prep: no beautifully labelled containers, no colour-coded fridge and absolutely no smug Sunday-night feeling of having my week sorted. Just a fridge full of good intentions, a slightly alarming amount of green food and a husband keeping an eye on the dates. It turns out imagining an organised life and actually organising one are two completely different skills.

I think I’ve found the best water bottle I’ve ever had. My b.box 1L insulated flip top keeps water icy for hours, and I love the shape of its rubber handle, the calm lilac colour and and flip-and-sip lid. That lid is particularly good for me because I can just flip it open and drink. No unscrewing, no faffing and, importantly, no dribbling water down my top – which has been known to happen when my brain is already somewhere else.

The real test, though, is the sauna. I can take it in with me and come out to lovely, cold water. It’s such a good bottle that H ended up getting a bigger, better version from the same brand. And now people at the gym have started noticing our bottles and asking where we bought them. Are we influencers or what?

When I find something I love, I will write home about it, and honestly, this water bottle has been brilliant. There is, however, one slight problem. My crazy brain can be remarkably good at losing things that are quite literally in my possession. I lost the bottle.

Most people post pictures of lost wedding rings on Facebook. Me? I posted a photo of my missing gym bottle, hoping someone would spot it and hand it in at reception … and they thankfully did! Blaze is another story. Halfway through a session, I’ll suddenly realise I haven’t had a drink and think, Where’s my water? Then I have to look around the studio and try to remember which station I’ve left it at. Remembering where I put the thing I carried into the room with me is beyond me.

So yes, I absolutely recommend this bottle. It keeps my water cold, it’s easy to drink from, it looks lovely, and it has survived the full Saffron test. I just can’t promise I’ll always know where I’ve put it.

I think the answer might be yes.

I started this post wondering whether changing my body would finally make me happy. A smaller waist, less flab on my arms and legs, smaller saddlebags. I still want those things. I’m not going to pretend I’ve suddenly stopped caring about how I look just because I’ve discovered the joy of Spin.

I still look in the mirror and analyse my legs. I still notice the wobbly bits I would like to change. I still love it when someone tells me I look great, even if my slightly ridiculous brain immediately starts wondering whether they really mean it. But something has shifted.

When I’m on that bike, cranking up the resistance, my legs aren’t a problem to solve because they’re doing the work. When I’m lifting weights with H, I’m not thinking about making myself smaller. I’m thinking about getting stronger and trying to remember which bloody machine I’m supposed to be using.

When my gym friends ask me how to use a machine, I’m not thinking about my reflection. I’m thinking, Hang on, you’re asking me? And feeling ridiculously pleased that I actually know enough to help. When I’m wobbling around in yoga, my body isn’t something I’m judging. It’s something I’m trying to balance. And when I’m in Spin, my brain finally has somewhere to put all its noise for 45 minutes.

Even the ridiculous things count. Watching Instagram and imagining myself becoming a meal-prepping genius. Filling the fridge with healthy green things instead. Buying a water bottle I love, losing it, posting a picture of it on Facebook and then forgetting where I’ve put it again in Blaze. None of these things have made me suddenly adore my body, but that isn’t the point.

I can want my legs to look different and be impressed by what they can do. I can want to lose some weight and be grateful that my body lets me dance, pedal, lift, wobble, sweat and occasionally collapse into a heap laughing. I can also enjoy being told I look good without making someone else’s opinion the final verdict on my body. I can want to change some things without deciding that the body I have right now is somehow failing. And that’s the bit I’ve been missing.

Fitness isn’t just about getting smaller. For me, it has become a strange mixture of wanting to change my body while slowly getting to know what it is capable of. I still don’t know exactly what would make me completely happy when I look in the mirror. But I’m beginning to suspect that happiness might not come from finally getting my body to the point where I stop looking for things to change. Maybe it comes from having a body I can actually live in, rather than spending all my time inspecting it.

I’m still working on that. And yes, I’ll probably still be checking my saddlebags in the mirror tomorrow.

Occasional stories, experiments, discoveries and rabbit holes from Saffron & Cyrus.