A Letter to My Body: Thanks For All the Miles and Mishaps

But we’re just getting started.

Dear Body,

Just wanted to say thanks for holding up and letting us feel strong, fierce, and alive all these years—we’ve had a good run.

With National Women's Health Week upon us—a time to check in and care for ourselves—I figured it was the perfect moment to reflect on everything we’ve done together.

Remember the early years? Climbing trees, biking helmet-free, swinging across monkey bars like a monkey with a mission? Then came baseball, basketball, and tennis—summers, recesses, and after-school hours filled with diving for fly balls and launching shots from anywhere on the court.

Then puberty showed up, like a curveball we didn’t see coming. Breasts? Really? I thought we were friends. Not exactly helpful for pitching softballs or nailing three-pointers. Maybe if TitleNine.com and its miracle bras had existed back then, it wouldn’t have been so rough. But we adapted—spiking volleyballs, dribbling past defenders, and making highlight-reel catches in centerfield. Good enough to get recruited by not one, but two Division I teams. And then... we quit.

Because the joy was gone.

But we didn’t give up sports entirely. Collegiate intramurals kept us in the game. Then came Rollerblading—our new post-college obsession. We hit every paved path we could find. Even after that epic wipeout left us belly-down, limbs akimbo and bleeding in four places, we got back up and rolled on.

In New York City, we joined three fast-pitch softball leagues. That eye-hand coordination? Still killer. Three Golden Gloves in a row—should’ve been four if that left fielder hadn’t collided with us going for the same fly ball. That neck injury? Still twinges, two decades later. But summer nights under the city skyline? Worth it.

In our mid-30s, we swapped the glove for a bike and yoga mat. Solid choice. Energy high, joints (mostly) functioning, muscles firing—those 100-mile weekend scenic rides were bliss.

Then came our 50s. Hello, menopause—the ultimate plot twist. Frozen shoulder, muscle loss, hot flashes. And memory...wait, what were we talking about? A friend who’d been through it all suggested something radical: gratitude. Gratitude that we can still bike 30 miles, power through hot yoga, and keep up with people half our age in weight training classes. (Sometimes all in the same day.)

When I asked my internist for advice on diet, workouts or supplements, she shrugged and said, “Welcome to 50.” In fact, she said it half a dozen times during our appointment, as if I should just “go gentle into that good night” with a ball of yarn and a rocking chair. I'm not looking for the Fountain of Youth—just simple tips to stay strong (and upright) as age is coming down the pike.

Which brings me back to the words of our high school basketball coach, Lorraine Dunnett, who used to holler from the sidelines: “Keep going!” She meant after a missed layup or an elbow to the face—but it turns out, it’s excellent life advice for right now. We got this—as long as we keep doing it together. You hear me? I only ask because, well, our hearing isn’t what it used to be.

So today, write a letter to your body—or even just one hard-working part—and thank it for hanging in there. For showing up. For doing its best.

With gratitude (and a few ice packs),

Felice

SONG OF THE WEEK

I’m Gonna Sit Right Down And Write Myself a Letter by Paul McCartney with Diana Krall on the piano.

Felice Cohen is an award-winning author, best known for squeezing big ideas into small spaces—like her 90-square-foot NYC apartment (yes, really). Her books include Half In: A Coming-of-Age Memoir of Forbidden Love, 90 Lessons for Living Large in 90 Square Feet, and What Papa Told Me, with praise from legends like Elie Wiesel and Rita Mae Brown. Her viral YouTube tour has racked up over 25 million views—mostly from people wondering where she kept her shoes. More at felicecohen.com.