“If you are in the green, that means you have more to give to this workout,” Jess said. I looked up at the giant screen. My name was green. I pushed harder, turned my name orange within a minute. I had been working out for over 20 years and this was the first time I pushed harder and my body and mind responded with the same answer: okay let’s do it!
Drenched in sweat, I slid into my coat and left the studio, a blast of chill punched my face. It was early December. I thought to myself, girl you an athlete!
The first time I attempted to become an athlete, I was 15. I signed up for personal fitness instead of team sports for my Gym credit. I envisioned a six-pack, skinny legs, muscular arms. I envisioned myself lifting weights, running, doing sit-ups. First we learned to bench press just the bar, no weights. Each unassisted bench press left me flat on the bench, wondering if I’d breathe again. Then it came time for our fitness test. We were to run a mile. Did I mention my two friends in the class, one a pom-pom who did conditioning with her team in the summer, the other a varsity soccer player?
The day of the fitness test, I lingered behind the class as they walked to football field– blue shorts, white t-shirt and sneakers my only tools. Everyone was comparing their mile times; I had never done this. We started the four laps around the football field and by the time I was in the touchdown zone, I was already walking. The soccer player slowed on his second lap and yelled, “try to jog at least, S.” I. was. mortified. I attempted to pick up my pace, but my stomach cramped and I ended up walking the rest of the way. I was third to last to finish at a fifteen minute mile. Soccer player’s mile was seven minutes, pom-pom ten.
This mile time haunts me to this day: it was the day I told myself I am not an athlete. I wanted to be one, but did not understand how to get into that mindset. It is a mindset, but at that age, I didn’t get the mind part, only the body. My body couldn’t do it that one day and so, I couldn’t be an athlete. This was my conclusion over and over again with any physical requirements that came my way. I couldn’t figure out how to do a straddle jump for cheerleading tryouts and again, my body didn’t do it and so I couldn’t be a cheerleader. I wanted to be a figure skater too. Similarly, when I tried to skate and couldn’t do it right the first time, I figured I couldn’t do it.
It is common sense to most, but not me. The idea that athleticism, while there is talent involved, also takes discipline of the mind and body. My family valued an intelligent mind, but I was never taught a disciplined mind. It was a skill I had to teach myself and still struggle with. Discipline versus pleasure. If ever it came down to one, I always chose pleasure. Run or watch Clueless for the hundredth time, the latter always won. Eat chicken curry and rice or a salad, the former always won. Though I knew athletes work hard and are disciplined in the physical work they need to put in, I didn’t understand what that actually felt like, looked like.
Last December, shivering on my way to the car I called myself an athlete for the first time. In the beginning if the coach said, “alright, go all out, empty the tank!” I thought, um no I’m going do what I want and go at my own pace, I’m not an athlete; all the others who are going crazy in this class are clearly athletes. But now, when the coaches yell, “empty the tank” my body responds in an unexpected way: I row faster, harder. It surprises me, every time. The thing is when you shift your mindset, your body will do that–surprise you. The art of discipline I am not a master of, but I am an athlete. What it took was not gaining a six-pack or being able to bench press a hundred pounds. No. What it took was instead planting the idea in my mind. After all, isn’t that how all change begins–with a tiny granule of an idea?
