By: Ashima Shukla, Staff Writer 

I’ve spent most of my life running from exercise — only figuratively, of course. When I was little, my mum tried to entice me with different sports: karate, skating, swimming, and even dance. But I always found an escape route. So imagine my surprise when, two years ago, an ADHD diagnosis revealed that the very thing I’ve dodged all my life was exactly what I needed. 

Research shows that exercise boosts neurotransmitters’ activity, like dopamine and norepinephrine, which can enhance focus and executive function. Regular cardiovascular exercise has been found to lower blood pressure, reduce the risk of dementia, improve memory, and fight osteoporosis. In addition, strength training boosts metabolism, reduces the risk of falls and injuries, and improves blood sugar management. Stretching improves posture, enhances blood circulation, relieves stress, and decreases headaches. Suddenly I began to wonder if exercise could be less punishment and more care. 

So after my undergrad, still unmedicated, aimless, and anxious, I found myself signing a gym membership. Somewhere between reps and runs, the treadmill became my therapy chair. Feeling angry? I ran. Overwhelmed? I ran some more. Within a few weeks, my body remembered what my mind loved to forget: presence. Bringing my attention back to my feet, my breath, the controlled motion and repetition, rhythm became my refuge. 

Western culture often treats time and bodies like machinery, meant to be measured, optimized, and monetized. Social media sells the illusion of perfection. Productivity culture demands efficiency. Under the logic of capitalism, even wellness becomes work. This was what I hated about exercise all my life. The impulse to view my body as another thing to fix. That if only I found the right supplements and movement routine, I would finally look and feel beautiful.

But what if movement was a refusal? A way of saying, I am not a project to improve. I am a person who deserves care. What if we reclaimed exercise, viewing it less as performance and more as an experience to enjoy? On the days I find myself ruminating and stressed, care looks like a run. Lately, it’s a walk around the block, noticing the bright red trees and breathing in the sharp autumn air. On the days I spend researching and typing away on my laptop, it looks like laying out the yoga mat and gently stretching away the tension in my back and shoulders. 

“Ashima, remember you have feet,” my therapist often tells me. It’s a silly cue to ground me. A reminder that I have a body, that I am not just a mind lost in itself. And movement, I hate to admit, has become my way to presence. It has become a part of my daily mindfulness practice.

To move, simply because it feels good, is to reclaim our bodies from the systems that want to measure and perfect them. At its best, exercise can be a way home to ourselves. It grounds, regulates, and restores. And in a world that tells us to keep running towards the next achievement, it can remind us to pause. 

I want to keep moving, not to get anywhere but to stay here.

I want to feel the air in my lungs, the ground beneath my feet, the gentle ache of my sore muscles, my racing heartbeat. Every stretch, every dance class, every swim becomes a small act of rebellion, a reclaiming of my body by returning to the present moment. Maybe the most radical thing we can do with our bodies is to simply inhabit them.