I
encountered a great deal of opportunity in my schools growing up. There actually wasn’t a lot of it because
they were so small, but because I changed schools so often, it felt like it.
The
trouble came once I moved back to the US.
I moved to an area that routinely produced super children, training from
age 4 every season in one sport. So when
I tried out for a team and didn’t make it, I was crushed. A friend invited me to cross country because
there were no tryouts and you could not be cut, but I thought that was
lame. Who wanted to be on a team that
never had cuts?
A whole
year went by. And while I played on a
city team for another sport in the evenings, it wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as
that sport had been at my prior school.
The reason, I figured out, was because they were all playing to be
noticed for scholarships, rather than fun. As competitive as I thought I was, I missed fun.
I also missed
a closely knit team. So I caved to Matt's request: at the start of the
next school year I went to cross country practice. I made a group of close friends, finally. We ran where and when we were supposed to,
but usually took detours through the local cemetery. The highly motivated part of our team used it
for fartlek training, which is how we discovered its existence. But it was too good to be used only for
whistle-blown intervals.
It was a
beautiful haven, full of rolling beautifully tended hills and creeks, bridges,
weeping willows. Those trees listened to
us Fab Five while we took extended stretching breaks and hotly debated Ayn Rand. The willows probably weren’t weeping, but laughing
as we discussed the meaning of life near those who had discovered it already,
and had the hyphen to show it.
So while
I had been frustrated with the lack of joy in most sports I personally
encountered, I finally found my own.
Running empowered me to feel free, even partly rebellious. We weren’t the best runners, so we were free
from the pressure to excel. We weren’t
there to improve our time on other sports, so we were free from looking
good.
In fact I distinctly remember the coach showing everyone a video of what he termed the Olesen Sprint. It was the 90s version of What Not to Wear, but he could have called it How Not to Run. He had recorded me at the end of a race plodding along, and then in a split instant, choosing to haul it the last 200 meters. He said I obviously saved up too much energy! After the howling laughter finished, I laughed, too: yup, I was indeed totally free from looking good. All we had to do was enjoy the air
and each other. Our health, our
friendships, our schooling all took care of themselves. I happily left the winning to my Somalian classmate!
And here
I am, twice the age I was then, and still running (and some will attest I still employ the Olesen Sprint). I have had some extended “stretching” breaks,
to be sure. My running career (which I
will call it, whether or not you know my name!) grew in its diversity of races,
new running buddies, students I got to coach, battle buddies I got to encourage
along the way. If you can run one mile,
you can run two. If you can run two
miles, you can run three…
It’s
proving to be a lifelong sport. And for
that, I am glad I was freed from thinking only one way about sports, or who I
am defined by one or the other. I am
glad for the frustration I felt in high school because it allowed me to blow my
prejudices to bits.
Most importantly, this
freedom is not to keep for myself. This life is not about my identity. I
started SLIMnasium to free others from thinking only one way about
exercise. I now enjoy helping my clients
see that when we start to take care of our bodies, the rest falls into
place. We have been told to consider
this body a gift, and to honor it for the Lord.
While for me that way has been running, biking, swimming and walking, I
love finding what clicks for my clients.
There is
freedom in exercising for a joyful purpose!
(For pictures, see this link https://plus.google.com/117496518254678736263/about?gl=US&hl=en-US)
