Dear Body,
Thank you.
It’s a quiet Sunday evening, and my legs are still buzzing from the 70 km ride earlier today. Yesterday, they carried me through a 14 km run. I can still feel the imprint of the weekend’s effort—fatigue, yes, but also something deeper. Strength. Stability. Gratitude.
This weekend reminded me just how remarkable you are. Even when you’re not at 100%, even when we’re coughing or fatigued or a little under the weather, you show up. You adjust. You move forward, step by step, breath by breath, pedal by pedal.
And that… that is everything.
Thank You for Carrying Me
In moments of stress and doubt, when my mind spirals into deadlines or decisions, I’ve often forgotten to say thank you for the one thing that never gives up on me: you.
Thank you for my legs—for moving me forward quite literally, not just across racecourses and training grounds, but through seasons of change and years of self-discovery. Yesterday they pounded the pavement for 14 kilometers, even while our lungs were still healing from a lingering cough. You didn’t ask for praise. You didn’t complain. You just did what you always do—carried me through.
Thank you for my lungs. Yes, they’ve been troubled lately. Coughing fits come in waves, sometimes forcing me to stop mid-ride, mid-run. But still—you breathe. You keep breathing. And that rhythm of inhale and exhale, no matter how wheezy or scratchy, is the pulse of my aliveness.
Thank you for my heart. Literally and metaphorically. You beat with courage. You beat with love. You beat with fire. Especially this week, when I could have curled under the blanket and skipped training altogether—but instead, I got on the saddle, clipped into my pedals, and said: “Let’s go.”
Training Through Illness: A Lesson in Listening
This week wasn’t perfect. I wasn’t at my best. I was sick. And still, we moved.
It was about listening. When I needed to stop and catch my breath because the cough came on strong—you told me. And I listened.
That’s something I didn’t know how to do before. I used to see illness as a flaw, a failure, something to fight against or medicate into silence. Now I see it differently. Illness is your voice, speaking gently. “Slow down,” you say. “Let me heal.”
So, I didn’t take medicine. Not because I’m stubborn, but because I trust you. I trust your intelligence. Your pace. Your power.
And you proved me right. The frequency of the cough is lessening. The scratchy throat is easing. Little by little, you’re returning to equilibrium. You’re finding balance.
A Weekend of Motion and Meaning
There’s something sacred about weekends like this one.
Running and cycling weren’t just workouts—they were metaphors. For life. For resilience. For how we keep going, even when we’re not sure how.
At the peak of the ride today, sweat dripping and breath sharp, I looked out at the landscape rushing past. I thought to myself: this is life. It doesn’t slow down. It challenges us. And we adjust. We adapt. We keep moving.
It reminded me of a conversation I had just yesterday with Chit, a friend and fellow Pearson College UWC alum. Over brunch, we talked about life since coming back to Vietnam—how different it feels, how meaningful it’s been to reconnect, to work, to dream here. That connection, that heart-to-heart dialogue, felt like another kind of nourishment. Not for the body, this time, but for the soul.
And that’s what I love about weekends like this. They remind me that I’m more than just physical. That training is more than just endurance—it’s reflection. It’s feeling. It’s remembering who I am, where I came from, and where I’m going.
Trusting the Body’s Wisdom
Over the years, I’ve learned to stop seeing you as something to control or perfect. You’re not a machine. You’re a living, breathing ecosystem. A friend. A guide. A mirror.
You ask me to nourish you—not just with food, but with kindness. With presence. With rest.
You’ve taught me that healing is never linear. And sometimes, the strongest thing I can do is take a step back. Say no. Take a nap. Choose soup instead of speed. You remind me that resilience doesn’t mean going full throttle. It means being in tune.
You’ve carried me through hard workouts, but also heartbreaks, big decisions, and quiet nights filled with uncertainty. You’ve held me steady through stress at work, deadlines, dreams, and daring changes.
So thank you. Thank you for your patience. Your strength. Your forgiveness.
A Letter to My Future Self
To my future self—there will be more weekends like this. There will be races ahead, training blocks that push us to the edge. There will also be down days, flu seasons, skipped sessions.
Don’t forget: your worth is not in your speed. Your value is not in how far you ride or run. Your power is in your presence. In how you show up.
So listen to the body. Thank it often. Move with it, not against it. Let rest be as sacred as work. Let breath guide you when the mind feels too loud. Let gratitude be your default.
And remember—this body is not just yours. It is you. It’s your home, your vessel, your lifelong companion.
Gratitude Beyond Muscles
This isn’t just about athleticism. It’s about aliveness.
Today, I’m not just grateful for strong legs or a steady heart rate. I’m grateful for my senses. That I can taste food. Smell the rain. Hear the wind during a Sunday ride. Feel the handlebars beneath my palms and the road humming beneath the tires.
I’m grateful for the intuition that tells me when I need to rest and when I’m ready again. For the clarity that arises after training—the kind that helps me see my work, my relationships, and my mission more clearly.
Because somehow, movement brings meaning. And meaning brings joy.
The Week Ahead, Fueled by Gratitude
As a new week begins, I feel grounded. I’m still coughing a little. My body is still recovering. But my spirit feels ready.
Ready for the UWC 2026 selection work with Chit. Ready for new interviews and projects. Ready to support others while honoring my own energy.
Ready not because everything is perfect—but because I have you, dear body, right here with me.
Steady. Unshaken. Listening.
To the Body That’s Taken Me Everywhere
From early mornings in Canada to humid evenings in Vietnam…
From finish lines I never thought I’d cross to tears cried quietly in the dark…
From the first yoga class to the latest 70 km ride…
You’ve been there.
You’ve been strong for me when I was emotionally fragile. You’ve been soft when I needed rest. You’ve been brave in the face of every challenge.
And that’s why I’m writing this.
To say: I love you. I honor you. I’m learning to trust you more each day.
You are not just the vehicle of my dreams. You are my dream.
———
To anyone reading this—take a moment to thank your body today.
You don’t have to wait for a perfect weight, a clear lab result, or a medal at the finish line. You don’t have to be free of pain to be full of appreciation. You don’t have to “deserve” rest. You already do.
You are already enough.
So stretch. Breathe. Cry. Laugh. Move slowly. Move boldly. But most of all—listen.
And when you feel your heart beating, know this: you are alive. You are powerful. You are loved.
