Celebrating the steps

 The sun over Rio was relentless, but the diagnosis Maria received that morning was colder still. Pre-diabetes. The word hung in the humid air between her and her best friend, Helena, as they sat on the seawall at Copacabana.

“So, that’s it? No more brigadeiro? No more pastéis?” Maria whispered, her voice trembling.

Helena looped her arm through Maria’s, her grip firm and sure. “No, querida. It means a new journey. And you are not going alone.”

Their goal was daunting: reclaim their health. But that first evening, as they walked the beach instead of sitting at the juice bar, Helena produced two small, perfect strawberries from her bag. “For our first step,” she declared, her eyes sparkling. “We celebrate the walk, not just the weight we might lose.”

This became their ritual. They celebrated the change, not just the distant outcome.

The morning Maria chose a bowl of papaya over sweet bread, Helena met her at the door with a single, vibrant hibiscus flower. “For the queen of healthy choices!” she cheered. When Helena managed the full, steep climb to the Parque Lage vista without stopping, her breath heaving but her spirit soaring, Maria was waiting at the top, holding two small cups of chilled coconut water. “A toast to your strong legs!” Maria laughed.

Their celebrations were a vibrant tapestry of Brazilian joy. They didn’t deny themselves pleasure; they redefined it. After a week of consistent evening walks, they celebrated not with cake, but with tickets to a samba class. The joy of moving their bodies to the infectious rhythm, their laughter echoing in the hall, was a reward far greater than any dessert. They celebrated learning a new, delicious recipe for moqueca using more vegetables with a beautifully set table and their favorite bossa nova playlist.

There were hard days, of course. Days when the scale didn’t move, when fatigue was a heavy cloak. On those days, their celebrations were quieter, but no less profound. “Today, we celebrate that we didn’t give up,” Helena would say, simply squeezing Maria’s hand. “We celebrate our resilience.”

Months later, the finish line they had once fixated on arrived almost as an afterthought. Maria’s new blood work came back perfectly in range. The doctor was impressed. That evening, they returned to their spot on the seawall. The same sun was setting, painting the sky in fiery hues. Helena pulled out a small cooler. Inside were two glasses and a bottle of flavoured sparkling water, sliced lemons and fresh mint.

“To your health,” Helena said, her voice thick with emotion.

Maria clinked her glass, tears in her own eyes. “No, amiga,” she corrected softly. “To our health. And to every single step that got us here.”

They sat in comfortable silence, watching the waves. The victory wasn't in the doctor's report; it was in the memory of every flower, every coconut water toast, every samba step. They had learned the most profound truth: by fueling the journey with celebration, they had not just reached a destination. They had fallen in love with the path itself.