When I was in the prime of my youth, a twenty-something whippersnapper, my approach to training was a steam train running on obsessive-compulsive behaviour. I had my training days set and would jump through any steam train-sized hoops to not have to miss a workout.

And whenever the inevitable would happen and I couldn’t do a workout, I’d bathe in misery. Obsessing over how missing a workout would put a major chip on my overall progress.

Fast forward to today, and I still carry part of that attitude with me. I still cast my training times in stone. But I no longer shower myself with guilt when I miss a workout.

If I would, unhappiness would be my constant companion in life. With kids and other grownup-sounding things that come with trying to be an adult, it’s impossible to tick all three weekly workout boxes every single week.

Honestly, it’s a miracle if I get in three weeks of consistent training each month. Two and a bit seems to be the standard for now.

And as annoying as it is, after a certain point I realised that no matter how much I hate having to miss workouts, it’s going to keep happening. I had to lower my expectations. To move away from perfection.

On the upside, all of this made me realise how little those missed workouts or even a week matter. As long as I am being consistent when I can.

I might not be the strongest or fittest version of myself right now. But considering how often I have to miss workouts, I’m doing alright. And I’m still happy with what I see in the mirror.

That’s a characteristically long-winded way of saying that good enough is enough. Especially if striving for perfection stops you from showing up.