Story by Maxann Lockard | Maxann Keller Creative
I ease into a seated position on the reformer as the evening sun spills through the front windows, scattering soft golden beams across the studio’s polished hardwood floors. The instructor hands me a cool, damp towel; its hint of lemongrass and tea tree oil brings a rush of rejuvenation and a feeling of peaceful accomplishment. This ritual signals the close of class at Orofino Wellness and the beginning of reflection. It’s a simple detail, yet it transforms the room: movement slows, senses sharpen, and what could have been just another workout becomes a familiar restorative habit, one that quietly teaches optimism, self-acceptance, and grace (all while strengthening muscles big and small).
On the front window of Orofino Wellness, a poster tracks the studio’s 30-day challenge. Each completed class earns a sticker pressed into my own designated checkerboard square. Fifteen classes in thirty days, or one class every other day. There is no prize, no ceremony, no competition. Just a gentle invitation: to try new forms of Pilates, meet new instructors, and step past the edges of our pre-determined comfort zones.
What I have found here, though, extends far beyond movement. This boutique Pilates studio in downtown Fredericksburg has become a sanctuary; a haven of reflection, renewal, and strength.
If you had told me two years ago that I would soon trade my running shoes in for white grip socks and reformers, I probably would have laughed —sharp and incredulous—or perhaps unraveled in protest. For so long, running was not just movement, but definition. It stitched me into a community, gave rhythm to my mornings, and shaped the lens through which I saw myself. The rising mileage on Strava was not just a number; it was a medal I wore proudly around my neck daily.
Now, with life pressing forward—pregnancy swelling my belly, a second beating heart within me, a successful career to tend to, side pursuits that demand time and heart, and a loving husband and pups that make this house my beloved home—I find that medal melting away. My hips ache before a mile is complete, and my lungs labor on a simple walk to the mailbox. Running, once a certainty and a joy, has now become nearly impossible.
The question often rose, heavy and terrifying: If I’m not a runner, then who am I?
Luckily, Pilates was waiting for me, quietly and patiently.
A chance mat class back in 2024 left me trembling and humbled by aching muscles I didn’t know existed. It undid my certainty that running was the hardest and most rewarding path, and in undoing it, created space for something new. Since then, reformers, towers, springs and straps have begun stitching a different cloth inside me. Here, I learn strength that does not depend on pounding pavement. Here, I learn that identity, like muscle, adapts to the seasons of life we choose to adventure through.
Pregnancy has changed the way I reflect on my sense of self-worth- in ways both intimate and startling. My body is softer, fuller, and a bit unfamiliar. Yet, in Pilates, I am not at war with change; I am in conversation with it. Breath by breath, movement by movement, I am reminded that transformation is not erasure. It is an expansion.
I know running will return to me one day. I will lace up my shoes again and find the road waiting faithfully no matter how fast or long I aim to go.
But I will not arrive as the same runner I once was. Surely, not the same person.
I will arrive at my first run post-partum carrying much more. More patience, more humility, more wholeness. Pilates has shown me that the need to shift my identity is not admitting defeat. It doesn’t call for a time of mourning. Instead, it’s a time to celebrate maturity, growth, strength, and confidence. A new identity is a chance to explore everything I always hoped I could someday be. To discover my truest potential and test the limits I previously set for myself.
I rest easily now knowing this season is not about loss or surrender. In fact, it never was.
While I may not be a “runner” right now, I am reimagining my own identity: one that can encompass so much more.
