The positive effect weightlifting's had in my struggle with depression has been an unexpected surprise.

When I got back into lifting a couple years ago my goals were primarily to rehabilitate my lower back, mitigating ten years of evolving pain which kept me from sitting for more than 15 minutes at a time without pain, and secondarily to try, as I rapidly approached 50, to dial back the increasing speed with which I was becoming generally uncomfortable in my form, livery, and prospects of remaining active.

It took time and consistency for my back to start showing improvement, but to my surprise it's almost completely rehabilitated, allowing me to sit through a solid coding session or three hours of a play with barely a twinge.

I was even more surprised by what I've experience in terms of general fitness.

I figured at my age my best bet hopes were to tighten a few things up around the middle and chest and hopefully increase limb strength a bit. I didn't figure my middle age body had either the structural integrity or the natural chemical supply to do more than that. Not the case.

Like rehabbing my back, it took focus and time to start seeing improvement. I had to start low and slow, at points taking time to learn about proper form as I healed from self inflicted injuries of pride and ignorance, but as I gained momentum I found myself starting to exceed my original expectations.

In regards to depression, lifting gave me goals easily measured in their achievement, an associated sense of accomplishment, and a noticeable improvement in quality of life, things which all sparked brightly in the grey of my mind.

Most effective, though, was the way my progress contributed to a sense of there being a positive future available. As I began reaching, then passing past measures of personal strength, I went from seeing myself on that final slide towards the grave to realizing I had plenty of vitality left in me, I just needed to be more intentional and disciplined with it.