Spring is in the air

I woke this morning to a beautiful sunrise over fresh snow.  The light felt different, somehow brighter and softer, as if it carried a quiet promise that spring is on its way.  The snow reflected the morning light, making everything feel clean and possible.  I lingered a little longer than usual, just watching the day begin.  After a long winter spent preparing for it in small, steady ways, I feel ready to up my game and add more strength training to my routines. 

At the same time, I was reminded on the weekend that, due to my fatigue, more rest periods may be necessary.  This has been one of my quieter lessons, where progress doesn't come only from doing more.  Sometimes it comes from allowing more space in between.  So, over the coming weeks, as I incorporate new movements, I will also build in more deliberate pauses.  Spaces for recovery that are just as important as the effort itself.  Rest is no longer an afterthought or a reward at the end.  It is becoming part of the plan.

This morning, I sat on the floor and tested myself. I wanted to see if I could stand from a seated position without using my arms or hands. My confidence was low at the outset. I wasn’t sure what would happen, and part of me hesitated before even trying. It is a vulnerable thing to test yourself, especially when the outcome is unknown.

I leaned forward, shifted my weight, and on my first try, I stood up cleanly and steadily, surprising myself. For a moment, I just stood there, taking in what had happened. It was such a simple movement, yet it felt like a quiet milestone. A small signal that something was changing beneath the surface. Not dramatic or flashy, just steady and real.

As I reflect on the last few months, I recognize that I have been building strength brick by brick, lifting and placing each one to lay a solid foundation. None of it has happened quickly. Each brick has been placed with care and consistency, sometimes with doubt, sometimes with patience, but always with intention.

Some days, the bricks feel light and manageable. Other days, they feel heavier than they should, and I wonder whether I am making any progress at all. But when I look back, I can see the outline of something taking shape, a structure that wasn't there for a very long time.

Each time I add a brick, I try to build with good technique so that what I am creating will last. The mortar between the bricks is deliberate, too. I am learning that rest and fuel are part of the structure. They allow the mortar to cure over time. Without curing time, the structure would be weaker, no matter how carefully the bricks are placed.

What I have learned is that strength lies not only in the moment of training but also in the quiet spaces between sessions. In recovery, in nourishment, in waiting. That is where the structure truly holds. That is where the body adapts and quietly prepares for what comes next.

There are still days when it feels like I am moving pebbles rather than boulders.  Progress can feel small and almost invisible, especially when I compare where I am to where I hope to be.  But when I step back, I can see that my health has been a slow progression toward managing the boulders I will encounter in the future.  The pebbles matter.  They always have.

I am on a continuum of health and strength, gradually moving toward the sunshine and, I hope, a fantastic kayaking season. I can almost picture the water now, the rhythm of the paddle, and the feeling of strength flowing through movements that once felt difficult.

Right now, my routine includes rowing, walking, and counter push-ups. Farmer carries and squats are part of my regular practice, movements that once felt awkward but are becoming more familiar. Soon I will begin adding reverse lunges and deadlifts, layering them in carefully to allow my body time to adapt. I want to build strength in a way that is sustainable, something that carries me forward not just for a season but for years to come.

I am learning that building strength is not about rushing ahead but about listening closely, adjusting, resting, and starting again.  It is about trusting that small efforts, repeated over time, truly add up to something meaningful.

This morning’s simple act of standing up from the floor reminded me that strength often arrives quietly. It grows in ways we don’t always notice day to day, until suddenly we realize we can do something that once felt out of reach.

And it makes me wonder.  What small bricks might you be laying right now, quietly building strength for the seasons ahead?