Well, after much denial and countless attempts at ignoring the warning signs, I was forced to listen to my body last week when my “old football injury” reared its ugly head. My neck and upper back screamed at me for two days straight and my range of motion was almost nonexistent. So, off the chiropractor I went.

Usually I fudge the truth a bit about how often I exercise and how much stretching I do to maintain my fragile alignment. I didn’t even try to lie to my chiropractor this time. I haven’t gone for a walk since early August, when the heat and humidity set up camp outside my old Kentucky home. And I haven’t done any yoga (other than stretching my arms when I yawn my way out of bed every morning) in a couple of years. My bedtime routine is erratic, the number of hours I sleep inconsistent, and my meals far from healthy.

A little snap, crackle and pop, plus 20 minutes of traction for my neck, and I was on the road to recovery. But it took three days for the pain to fully recede – that’s three full days spent chastising myself for letting this happen, because my problems are totally preventable. It was also three days to decide which vice I’d address first.

I let the start of a new month (Hello, September!) inspire a fresh start to my self-care regimen, and signed up for yoga classes on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. I’m making no other promises for now. One step at a time.