I felt old, then I ditched sugar and started meditating

Ten years ago, when I was 38, a yoga- bendy friend in her mid- 50s was showing off to my children by standing on her head. not wishing to be shown up, I tried it too — and collapsed like warm jelly onto the rug.

Today, I tried a headstand again. I slowly unfurled, pointed my toes to the ceiling and balanced for a couple of minutes.

I wasn’t surprised that it was easy this time. As I approach my half- century, I’m fitter and stronger than I’ve been in decades.

In my 20s, assuming life would be long, I made virtually zero effort to increase the odds.

My attitude towards my appearance and health was haphazard. Friends forced me to step classes, but I was uncoordinated, couldn’t follow the fancy choreography and felt like a twit.

As for my diet, I ate a lot of restaurant pizza and jars of pesto. In five years, I didn’t once turn on the oven in my apartment.

Clothes didn’t interest me. A fashionista colleague, hearing I’d chosen a particular vintage-inspired label for a wedding, noted that this was a brand for those ‘with no style of their own’.

I actually did have a style of my own, just not one other people approved of.

‘Can you please stop dressing like a student?’ said my boss. When I bought roomy knee-high boots, a friend remarked, ‘ you look like you’re standing in a pair of buckets’.

Popping out three children in my 30s improved neither my fitness nor style. I was left with a weak core, which exacerbated a series of back problems. My knees hurt if I carried heavy groceries. I felt wrecked. I belonged to a health club though, so I dutifully attended group Pilates. It wasn’t fun.

Once, when the class was Rolling Like A Ball, I received a call to tell me my baby was ill, and a bee-shaped woman, objecting to my classical ringtone, said acidly: ‘Poor Bach.’

I quit those joyless classes for swimming. But, of course, that involved getting wet and it sucked up two hours.

In my late 30s, I felt old and I had short hair like a punishment.

I ate well, thanks to my husband’s cooking, but I was also a sugar addict, dependant on the daily sedative of a large chunk of chocolate. I passed that decade without raising my heart rate or breaking a sweat, and it aged me.

Only now, in my 40s, have I got the balance right.

I realised I had to take control so as not to fossilise and jellify simultaneously.

I cracked down on my sugar habit because my complexion was turning ruddy, and I learnt sugar ages the brain — goodbye daily milk chocolate binge. My skin is clearer.

I also grew my hair, and now realise that everyone was biting their tongue during my ill-advised bob years.

I’ve finally got body and soul together. I run for half an hour three or four times a week. It has a meditative quality, reduces stress, sharpens acuity and it’s bite-sized — it doesn’t hog your time.

In the cold light of middleage, i changed the internal narrative and at last, I feel good about myself.