Kia ora, I’m Nathan, one of the I Am Hope team. A few years back you wouldn’t have caught me anywhere near a treadmill—unless it was to hide behind it. I was the bigger kid who always finished last, so I decided moving wasn’t for me. Cue the double-whammy of low confidence, sky-high blood pressure, and anxiety that loved reminding me I wasn’t “good enough”.
Then, four winters ago, my uni mate Sam nudged: “Bro, come to this student-rate gym with me—could use the company.” I’d love to say I sprinted through the doors, but honestly, I hovered outside pretending to tie my laces. Still, I went in. We stuck to the treadmills because neither of us had a clue. Day one hurt. Day two hurt differently. By week three I noticed I was breathing less like Darth Vader and more like, well, me.
That tiny yes snowballed into something I never expected: belief. Each session whispered, maybe you can. That whisper is louder than any panic attack I’ve had since.
What kept me going (and might help you too)
Mine was: Can I do one pull-up? I couldn’t—so I found easier variations and chipped away. Micro-wins build mega-confidence.
YouTube, Insta reels, free PDFs—whatever explains the basics without the jargon. Knowing why an exercise matters made me feel less like a fraud.
Sam still trains with me. Some weeks we rope in extra mates. Accountability hits different when a friend is waiting at the door.
Last year I walked into a Muay Thai class shaking. A 16-year-old tagged my chin during sparring—I survived, laughed, went back the next night. Turns out “terrified” can become “stoked” quicker than you think.
Local gym, jog part of your commute, body-weight circuits beside the bed—remove the faff, and you’ll remove half the excuses.
Sore? Sick? Netflix it is. Progress isn’t a straight line; it’s more like a toddler’s crayon drawing—messy but heading forward.
If you’re scrolling this at 2 a.m. thinking I should move more, start with the smallest step that feels doable today. Text a mate, watch a ten-minute beginner workout, or walk to the end of your street and back. That’s all it took for me to rewrite the soundtrack in my head from you can’t to look at you go.
When you share how you managed your first kilometre or your first roundhouse kick, someone else hears “maybe I can, too”. Give it a whirl, share your wins, and keep the kōrero going—we’re stronger when we move, and even stronger when we move together.
