Hi, my name is Lyn, and I'm an athlete.
I never thought I'd use that word to describe my body or my identity, but here it is.
As much as I abhor the writing device of referring to the dictionary definition of a word, that's what I'm going to do here. Webster's defines "athlete" as "a person who is trained or skilled in exercises, sports or games requiring physical strength, agility or stamina."
The term "athlete" was a barrier for me when I first started physical therapy, because I wasn't one. My PT took place in a clinic that heavily emphasized sports medicine. How in the world, I wondered, would a therapist -- especially an obviously athletic man like Dan M. -- ever relate to a recliner-dwelling, cross-stitching, "West Wing" binge-watching lump of lard like me?
Part of my problem, I guess, is that I bought into my culture's pervasive but seldom articulated attitude about who is and who isn't an athlete.
If you're a teen, only those on the varsity teams have the right to describe themselves that way. For a lot of years of my early life, the term "athlete" was largely reserved for boys, and a girl who was considered athletic was often perceived as unfeminine or pushy. That's why I was thrilled in 1983, when I was working at my first newspaper job in Clear Lake, Iowa, and the CLHS Homecoming queen -- a lovely young lady named Kristi -- was not a cheerleader, but a starter on the girls' basketball team.
If you're an adult, you can, if you must, call yourself an athlete if you're on a rec-league softball team, if you play tennis or racquetball regularly or if you run or bike. But generally speaking, the adjective is reserved for Olympians, NFL football players, Major League baseball players or other elite competitors.
Our culture places excessive value on excellence.
You're not a singer unless you have a voice like Judy Collins or Josh Groban. You're not an artist unless your work is exhibited in a gallery show. And you're not an athlete unless you have a drawer full of medals or a ring the size of a grapefruit.
Well...one of the many ways in which the Dans of PT blessed me is, they helped me discover that I'm an athlete after all -- and so is every person who moves and uses her body, because the human body is meant to be moved and used.
It started in the therapy pool, but it didn't end there.
The moment I realized "athlete" is a component of my identity happened, I think, while I was lap-swimming and counting the number of strokes I took between breaths. Or maybe it was when I accumulated so much paraphernalia related to working out (swimsuit, swim cap, goggles, flippers, gym shoes, gym socks, towel, sports bra) that I needed separate bags -- a gym bag and a swim bag -- to haul my equipment to and from my workout venues.
I'm not saying I'm an elite athlete, or even a very good one. I'm no threat to Michael Phelps in the pool; I'm not even as fast as most of the others in the aquatic center who also work out with kickboards and flippers. And an hour or so on the recumbent bike is not the Tour de France, or even RAGBRAI.
But I move my body. I work my body. I strive to get stronger, faster, better.
I'm an amateur in the truest sense of the word: I do it for the love of it.
I'm an athlete.
I never thought I'd use that word to describe my body or my identity, but here it is.
As much as I abhor the writing device of referring to the dictionary definition of a word, that's what I'm going to do here. Webster's defines "athlete" as "a person who is trained or skilled in exercises, sports or games requiring physical strength, agility or stamina."
The term "athlete" was a barrier for me when I first started physical therapy, because I wasn't one. My PT took place in a clinic that heavily emphasized sports medicine. How in the world, I wondered, would a therapist -- especially an obviously athletic man like Dan M. -- ever relate to a recliner-dwelling, cross-stitching, "West Wing" binge-watching lump of lard like me?
Part of my problem, I guess, is that I bought into my culture's pervasive but seldom articulated attitude about who is and who isn't an athlete.
If you're a teen, only those on the varsity teams have the right to describe themselves that way. For a lot of years of my early life, the term "athlete" was largely reserved for boys, and a girl who was considered athletic was often perceived as unfeminine or pushy. That's why I was thrilled in 1983, when I was working at my first newspaper job in Clear Lake, Iowa, and the CLHS Homecoming queen -- a lovely young lady named Kristi -- was not a cheerleader, but a starter on the girls' basketball team.
If you're an adult, you can, if you must, call yourself an athlete if you're on a rec-league softball team, if you play tennis or racquetball regularly or if you run or bike. But generally speaking, the adjective is reserved for Olympians, NFL football players, Major League baseball players or other elite competitors.
Our culture places excessive value on excellence.
You're not a singer unless you have a voice like Judy Collins or Josh Groban. You're not an artist unless your work is exhibited in a gallery show. And you're not an athlete unless you have a drawer full of medals or a ring the size of a grapefruit.
Well...one of the many ways in which the Dans of PT blessed me is, they helped me discover that I'm an athlete after all -- and so is every person who moves and uses her body, because the human body is meant to be moved and used.
It started in the therapy pool, but it didn't end there.
The moment I realized "athlete" is a component of my identity happened, I think, while I was lap-swimming and counting the number of strokes I took between breaths. Or maybe it was when I accumulated so much paraphernalia related to working out (swimsuit, swim cap, goggles, flippers, gym shoes, gym socks, towel, sports bra) that I needed separate bags -- a gym bag and a swim bag -- to haul my equipment to and from my workout venues.
I'm not saying I'm an elite athlete, or even a very good one. I'm no threat to Michael Phelps in the pool; I'm not even as fast as most of the others in the aquatic center who also work out with kickboards and flippers. And an hour or so on the recumbent bike is not the Tour de France, or even RAGBRAI.
But I move my body. I work my body. I strive to get stronger, faster, better.
I'm an amateur in the truest sense of the word: I do it for the love of it.
I'm an athlete.
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