Reflection and Action


Why We Begin Practice With Reflection (And Why It Matters More in Midlife)

The Small Pause at the Beginning

At the start of every yoga practice, we pause.

Nothing dramatic happens in that moment. There’s no deep stretch, no strength work, no complicated technique. We simply take a minute to notice how we are arriving.

For many women, this is unfamiliar. The instinct is usually to begin immediately. The day has been busy, time is limited, and exercise becomes another task to move through efficiently.

But skipping the moment of reflection often means we start training without recognising the state the body is already in.

That matters more than most people realise.

Reflection Is Not Replaying Your Day

When we talk about reflection at the beginning of practice, it isn’t a mental replay of events.

It’s not about analysing the conversation you had at work or the long list of things still waiting for you later in the evening.

Instead, the reflection is physical and observational.

You’re noticing the effect the day has had on your body.

Perhaps your breathing has become shallow after hours of concentration. Your shoulders may be slightly lifted. Your jaw might be holding tension. Your hips could feel stiff from sitting.

These are small signals, but they tell you a lot about how your nervous system and body are currently operating.

The Nervous System Sets the Tone for Training

In strength training, mobility work, or yoga, the body’s response to exercise is heavily influenced by the nervous system.

If the nervous system is already in a heightened state from a demanding day, jumping straight into intense movement can feel disproportionately difficult.

You might notice:

  • coordination feels off

  • strength feels lower than expected

  • breathing becomes strained more quickly

  • movements feel tight or restricted

This doesn’t necessarily mean you’ve lost fitness or strength. Often it simply means the body hasn’t transitioned out of the stress state created by the day.

A short reflective pause helps shift that state.

Breathing slows slightly. Muscles release small amounts of tension. Attention moves from external demands back into the body.

Only then does movement begin.

Why This Matters More in Midlife

For women in their late thirties and early forties, the relationship between stress, recovery, and training often becomes more noticeable.

Hormonal fluctuations, sleep disruption, work demands, and caregiving responsibilities all influence how the nervous system regulates stress.

Research in this area is still developing, especially for women in perimenopause, but several patterns are commonly observed:

  • Recovery capacity can fluctuate more from week to week.

  • Sleep quality becomes a stronger determinant of training readiness.

  • Stress hormones can remain elevated longer after demanding days.

When these factors accumulate, the body benefits from clearer signals that it is safe to shift from “day mode” into movement and recovery.

Reflection provides that signal.

The Psychological Layer: Permission to Notice

There is also a psychological element to this practice.

Many women in midlife have spent decades prioritising the needs of others. Work responsibilities, family logistics, and constant decision-making often take precedence over noticing their own physical state.

Exercise then becomes one more thing to accomplish efficiently.

Reflection interrupts that pattern.

It creates a small but meaningful moment where attention returns to the body without judgement or pressure.

Over time this builds something important: self-trust.

Instead of forcing every session to look identical, women begin adjusting based on real feedback from their body.

Ironically, this flexibility often leads to greater consistency.

An Honest Reflection - Great Eastern Run 2025

This year’s Great Eastern Run was my second half marathon. Last year I ran it in 2:00:06 and loved every minute of it. The weather was bright, the crowd was incredible, and my body felt strong from start to finish. It was one of those perfect race days that remind you why you run.

This year, I crossed the line in 1:57:09 — nearly a three-minute personal best. By the numbers, it was a clear success. But I didn’t feel the same sense of joy or pride that I expected. I wanted to break 1:55, maybe if I was having a good day maybe even get close to 1:52, and instead of feeling proud, I found myself picking apart what went wrong.

My period was due on race day, which brought back memories of the Hyrox race earlier this year where it started just before my heat began. I cried the night before, (damn hormones) and I carried that anxiety with me all weekend, worried it might happen again mid-race. Then to add to that my watch failed — it recorded the run, but the screen stayed black. I couldn’t see my pace or time, which left me running purely on feel.

Around mile three I spotted a veteran club runner I’d noticed in the start pen and decided to stick with him — seasoned club runners tend to hold a steady pace, I reasoned. It worked well until he stopped to use a portaloo, and suddenly I was on my own again, trying to guess if I was running too fast, too slow, or just right.

The middle miles felt manageable, but by mile ten my recently sprained ankle started to ache, followed by the same-side hamstring and the opposite-side lower back. The last three miles were a grind. I finished, but it was messy and uncomfortable and I knew I had slowed.

In the end, I achieved what I set out to do — a personal best and an uninjured finish. But it took so much more mental energy than I expected, for what seemed like a comparatively small return. Compared to last year’s race, which felt effortless and joyful, this one was bloody hard work.

Finding the positives. Looking back, I can see the quiet success in it. Last year showed me what my body could do when everything aligned. This year showed me what I could still do when nothing did. Progress doesn’t always feel good in the moment. Sometimes it feels gritty, uncertain, and heavy — but it’s still progress.

Last year I found the joy in running. This year I found the resilience.