Two years ago, I had two surgeries within three weeks of each other. First my gallbladder was removed, and three weeks later I had surgery to repair a hiatal hernia and my diaphragm. I now have six staples that live permanently in my diaphragm. The recovery was brutal. I was on a liquid diet for almost three months. On top of all of that, I have esophageal dysmotility which means my esophagus doesn't always contract, doesn’t move food the way it should and food can get stuck.

The staples changed my ability to do cardio, and catching my breath got harder than heck. During the healing process, we took our family to Turks and Caicos for my 60th birthday, and somewhere on that trip I started thinking about my legacy. Health and vitality became everything to me. I wanted to enjoy my life and not make an excuse for not being able to show up. Projecting my voice had gotten hard too, which is a big deal when in our BOLD class I have to be big and fill the room. So I asked myself: what can I do to get my diaphragm working again, to get air in without feeling like I'm sucking for breath, and not collapse?

It started with my Peloton. I'd get on for five minutes and ride. Easy, just ride. Then ten minutes. Just ride. Then fifteen, and I bumped up the resistance. Then twenty, and I started taking classes. Little by little, I could take deeper breaths.

A year later, I signed up for a Tough Mudder with some of our clients. Take it at an easy pace, but just do it. Then Eric and I decided to do the Manitou Incline in Colorado Springs two days before the Tough Mudder. Talk about sucking air. The Incline is 2,768 steps with more than 2,000 feet of elevation gain, nearly a mile straight up, with grades reaching about 68%. I'd take ten steps and pause. Twelve steps, pause. Ten more. Twenty. But I kept moving, and when I got up that freaking mountain I was SO freaking proud of myself. The whole way, I kept my eyes on what was right in front of me, because that was the only way I could do it. If I looked to the top, it was overwhelming and felt impossible. But one step in front of the other was doable.

In the Tough Mudder, I realized I'd lost my upper-body strength. I've always been strong, so not being able to pull myself over a wall was foreign to me. So I dug deep, signed my family up for a Spartan Race the following year, and started doing push-ups: ten a day, then fifteen, then twenty-five. Then I got the brilliant idea to do 100. In April 2026, I got there, and it wasn't a one-and-done. It became a lifestyle: 100 push-ups every dang day. It doesn't matter if they're regular, on my knees, or a blend. I get up, show up, and figure it out. That's the 1%, every single day.

Then came the Spartan Race, a 5K with 20 obstacles, and I was doing it with my daughter, grandson, husband, bonus son, and his girlfriend. Eric looked at me and said, "Look around, babe. Do you see any gray haired people?" Thanks, honey. The first obstacle was a five-foot wall. Easy peasy. The monkey bars have never been my strong suit, but I made it almost halfway across. Then came the inverted wall, and I freaking crushed it. A year earlier in Colorado I couldn't do that obstacle; I had no upper-body strength and needed help to get up and over. This time I did it myself.

By the time we finished the Spartan Race, what was supposed to be a 5K turned into almost six miles. And yes, I jogged it, and did all 20 obstacles. I even took second place in my age group. There were only 17 people over 60 competing, and I was one of them.

Today I am so beyond proud of myself. Not because of the placement, but because of what became possible. Making lasting memories. Getting to hang with my daughter and grandson. That's what living is: to live, to laugh, to love, and to live with no regrets. I refuse to sit on the sidelines wishing. I choose to get up every day, one push-up at a time, focusing on what I can do instead of what I can't. That's the 1%.

What's next? I don't know… but bring it. Watch me soar. I'm doing hard stuff, and I'm loving it.