Sporting Motives

The thump of basketballs hitting the old hardwood floor resonates off the brick walls of the gym.  I enter timidly, overwhelmed by the din of excited voices shouting over the dribbling balls and the occasional squeak of a shoe.  Because I am tall for my age, I have decided that I should go out for basketball.  Because I am clumsy, I become well-acquainted with the wall underneath the goal, where each time I go for a layup, I inevitably trip, fly through the air, and slam into the bricks.  At the end of the week of practice, the coach walks up to me and simply says, "Arthur, I didn't order you a pair of shoes."  Perhaps, one needs more than height to successfully play basketball.  You know, things like skill.  I nod as a sign of my understanding that I would receive no playing time that year, rub my bruised knees, then hobble away in pursuit of my next athletic disaster.

To say I lack athletic prowess is an understatement.  Allow me to offer evidence in defense of my hypothesis.  In P.E., where we geeky, athletic misfits would go to endure our daily hour of humiliation, our coach insisted that we learn to play volleyball.  I'm tall.  Volleyball players are tall.  What was there to lose?  Not once in my fifty bazillion attempts did I ever actually serve the ball over the net.  In class, every time the line would rotate, and we inched closer to my turn to serve, I'd break out into a sweat, the kind where even if I'd wanted to grasp the ball in my hand, it would have slipped out of my dripping wet palms onto the floor.  I was such an appalling volleyball player that one girl, we'll call her Nancy Blue, would shout taunts at me, "You're terrible.  Why can't you just serve the ball?" or my favorite, "Let's just go ahead and give the other team a point."  Once, she had me so flustered that I served the ball directly into the coach's nose.

What Nancy didn't know is that when I went home in the afternoons, I took an old basketball and bounced it against the brick exterior of my house, spending hours attempting volleyball drills in an effort to improve.  I jumped and set the ball until my calves ached and my fingertips throbbed.  I'd rather have walked barefoot over shards of glass than play volleyball or dodge ball (don't even get me started on the disaster that was dodge ball) in P.E., but my disdain for those sports didn't prevent me from working overtime to improve.  In fact, it wasn't that I hated the sports, I actually enjoyed participating.  I despised the taunts when I failed to perform them perfectly.  I simply wanted an opportunity to enjoy the game for the sake of enjoying the game.  I had a high aptitude as a student; learning for me was natural and effortless, yet I didn't stand over students who didn't master materially as quickly as I and jeer them.  That would have been cruel, but it seemed to be accepted as part of the game in sporting endeavors.  Though it lacked a name then, I think we now call that charming practice "trash talking."

Next stop on the athletic train wreck was gymnastics.  Because I'm tall, I should attempt gymnastics. Oh, wait, that doesn't fit.  Well, it didn't stop this gal from ten years of gymnastics lessons.  Seriously, on day one, someone should have pulled my mom aside and asked, "Do you realize her legs are longer than the next tallest student?  You've watched the Olympics, right?  Most gymnasts are really tiny, nothing like your daughter."  But no, they happily robbed my mom blind for the next ten years, while I attempted to learn just enough gymnastics to make cheerleader.  I barely noticed how ridiculously awkward my clumsy frame must have appeared next to all of the sleek, peppy tumblers who surrounded me.  I had my eyes on one prize and that was accomplishing a back handspring for tryouts, a goal I failed to accomplish, though somehow, I did make cheerleader.  Perhaps, it was because I forced my mom to record me doing my jumps over and over, so I could review them on video, critiquing my form and searching for ways to improve.  I would practice my arm movements by standing against a wall, so my arms wouldn't overextend, keeping my cheers sharp.

Most people would have given up, not just on sports but on physical fitness in general, but I think, as most of my posts attest, I'm not your average bear.  I'm a slightly imbalanced, hopelessly optimistic bear who apparently doesn't like to consider its limitations.  Some might even go so far as to call that bear delusional, but I like to say it's determined and unrelenting.  I learned, though, at an early age, and mostly through school P.E., which is supposed to be about teaching habits of lifelong fitness, that if you aren't skilled in athletic endeavors that you don't even deserve a seat at the table, or on the bench in my case.  I was learning to associate physical fitness with torture, humiliation, and a showcase for my lack of finesse.

We live in a competitive, dog-eat-dog society, where, as Ricky Bobby so aptly summed it up, "if you ain't first, you're last." I live in the heart of the SEC, where athletic excellence is king, no matter the cost.  Stories abound of parents pushing their children to burnout, spending thousands of dollars on private coaching, so their child can be the best.  Athletes are heralded as superstars and heroes.  Only the best will do, but what about the rest of us.  While it's fun to watch athletes who are really great at sports compete, is there a place in the world of sports and fitness for us mere mortals who also enjoy competing?  According to the CDC, 80 percent of Americans don't get the recommended 2.5 hours a week of moderate aerobic activity, in a country where 65 percent of us are overweight.  While exercise is only 20% of the equation in the battle of the bulge, exercise provides a whole host of health benefits beyond simply weight control.  Could it be that after experiences like mine, many of us are too browbeaten to endure what we think will be a repeat of fifth grade physical education?

Fortunately for me, I have a mom who values fitness and who valued her children's interests and worked with us until we found the right athletic fit.  My mornings of getting up at 6 am before school to workout with my mom paid off when, on the day of the President's Physical Fitness test, I found I was a decent runner,  actually finishing the mile run with the fastest time for the girls.  What? What?  I was good at something that didn't involve a book.  After that, I was hooked and despite not having a track or cross-country team, I discovered 5Ks, half-marathons, and eventually, marathon.

Now, that I have children who are old enough to compete in sports, I worry about what sort of athletic experiences they will encounter and what my role will be in encouraging them toward a lifestyle of fitness.  Will they learn that the goal is to be the best and to win at all costs, or will they discover the value and joy inherent in maintaining a life of physical activity?  I see shades of mine and my husband's super-competitive drive in my six-year-old son at his soccer games, and I often find us encouraging his aggressiveness.  My son plays to win, asking repeatedly, "What's the score?"  My daughter, who also loves soccer, plays for a much different reason.  She enjoys the drills, the practices, but more than anything, she loves the relationships she develops with the other girls on the team and the simple joy of the sport.  She isn't the best player on the team, and she may never be;  I find myself wanting to encourage her to be more competitive to play with more fire like her brother.  But why?  Will it really matter if she's never Mia Hamm?  Who cares if she just plays for the love of the game, as long as she's trying her best?

It's such a fine line to walk as a parent.  Don't misunderstand.  I'm not an "everybody wins, everyone gets a trophy" kind of girl.  Not everyone gets a trophy in the real world and winning and losing are part of living in the 21st century.  I love sports and healthy competition; I'm just not gifted to play them competitively.  Sports have value for our kids, too.  According to livestrong.com, kids who participate in athletics perform better in school, are less likely to abuse drugs, have good relationships with peers, and better overall health.  Yet, when the focus shifts from the benefits of teamwork, physical fitness, and fun to simply winning and being the best, I wonder if that isn't where we lose folks on the path to lifelong fitness habits.

I've learned a lot from my ups and downs with fitness, and these are the lessons I desire to pass on to my little ones.  So guys, as you enter into the exciting world of sports, here's what I hope you'll remember:

Mommy's first marathon

1.  Anyone can become an athlete.  Even clumsy bookworms like your mom.  As I discovered in my fitness quest, it's really about discovering what activity you enjoy, something you look forward to doing, rather than dread.  Just because you aren't an all-star baseball player, doesn't mean you're a sporting failure.  Who knows?  You might be a champion swimmer.  It takes time and
 in my case, tons of trial and error, but don't be discouraged; there's an activity out there for you.

2.  Fitness must be a lifelong endeavor, not simply something in which we participate in high school or college.  Most of us will never play at the collegiate or pro level.  While playing on a team in high school is a great way to learn about teamwork, fitness, and competition, most participants will not earn a scholarship or achieve great success beyond high school, which is why it's important to find an aspect of the sport or  activity that you love and can continue to participate in beyond your school years.

3.  Simply because you might not play at the collegiate or pro-level, doesn't mean you should give up your sport once you become an adult.  There are hundreds of recreational, club, and intramural opportunities to continue participating in the sport you love.

4. You're never too old to try something new.  Your father didn't discover his aptitude for biking and running until he was in his thirties, and he even competed in the world duathlon championship.  He's a competitive Power Man participant.  Your mom ran her first half-marathon in her late twenties.  I plan to complete my first triathlon this summer after my 40th birthday!  The sky's the limit, little ones.

5.  Athletics teach you that you're capable of so much more than you imagined.  For your mom, participating in sports has taught me never to give up and that anything worth achieving in life requires hard work, lots of prayer, and a positive attitude.  I've always been a bit of the underdog in my athletic ventures, but I've discovered that I like having the opportunity to surprise, not just the naysayers but myself, as well.  Few things will bring you greater satisfaction than crossing the finish line of a 26.2 mile run, knowing that you didn't quit when training got tough, that you set a goal and followed through, that despite wanting to give up a hundred times, God gave you the encouragement and stamina to see it through.  These lessons translate to life, too, little ones.  What we learn on the field, in the gym, and on the trail teach us how capable we are.  That with God's help and guidance, we can conquer obstacles that seem insurmountable.  If your mom had given up after those basketball drills or the one year she didn't make cheerleader, tossed her sneakers into the closet and settled for a sedentary life, she would have never discovered just how fun and vital an aspect fitness is to a truly fulfilling life.

6.  Competition isn't about being the best; it's about being your best.  Don't compete with others.  Compete with yourself.  Even the bible warns us of the danger of worrying about everyone else's race.  Focus on your unique races, my loves, and challenge yourselves to be the best you can be.  We work at everything as if working for the Lord, but that doesn't mean we have to be the fastest or the most skilled.  There will always be someone faster, taller, better.  We simply need to focus on being our best.

7.  Some athletes make great heroes; many don't.  My heroes are the breast cancer survivor who finishes her first 10K, the seventy-year-old who has run a marathon in every state, the disabled young man who climbs Mt. Everest, the girl who was told she may never walk again who crosses the finish line of a half-marathon, the young woman who stops in the middle of a track competition to help an injured competitor across the finish line, the overweight young man who has the courage to sign up for his first 5K.  Those are my heroes, and I hope they will be yours, too.

So, you see guys, fitness is about more than making the team, winning the game, or getting a scholarship.  It's about having the courage to play, setting and accomplishing goals, not giving up or settling for less than your best, oh, and having fun. So, if you find, like mom, that maybe basketball, cheerleading, gymnastics, dodge ball, softball, and volleyball aren't for you.  Don't give up.  There's a thousand more activities just waiting to be tried, and along the way, you'll also discover just how wonderfully made you truly are.

I Resolve

I'm what you might call a resolution reject.  Before those tiny conversation hearts line the shelves of the local CVS in anticipation of Valentine's, I'm already reeling from the reality of broken resolutions.  Last year, I resolved to be less distracted and more present.  This lasted until the first play of the National Championship game.  My resolution to be more organized made it until it was my turn to put away the laundry.  This year's proposed resolution to not over schedule myself didn't even see the light of day since I filled in my January schedule before my kids had uttered the phrase "trick or treat."  So, this year, I simply haven't had the heart to put myself through the disappointment of writing down a list of lofty goals that won't make it to the first snowfall before they are lining the bottom of my kitchen trash can.

Rather than resolve, I've decided to discover.  I'm taking the time I'd normally spend writing about my plans for self-improvement and attempting to dig deeply and determine why my good intentions spiral into chaos by President's Day.  The theme of my resolutions for the past five years could be summed up in the phrase: simplify, slow down, learn to say no.  I find that my issue isn't necessarily a lack of discipline; it's a lack of time.  I don't have time to work diligently on resolutions or self-improvement.  I realize I'm given the same amount of time as everyone else on the planet, but I seem to be able to fill every single free second with an obligation despite promising myself that I won't do it this time.  It's as if I have some busyness disorder that is only satisfied when I'm running myself ragged.  Quite frankly, it's left me weary.

What should be some of the happiest, liveliest years of my life have suddenly become days I simply find myself trying to "get through."  If I can just get through the holidays, then I'll have time to focus on what matters.  If I can get through this next session of ACT students, then I can slow down and focus on my little ones.  My life has become a series of "get throughs" and I'm not ever finding myself on that magical other side.  Even more frustrating, the moments I'm getting through are good things.  My life is filled with good things:  an amazing husband, two wonderful children, a great part-time teaching position, a thriving tutoring business, family, friends, church.  But I find I'm never present because my mind is always anticipating the next meeting, lesson, play, practice, meal, appointment.  Even when I drop in bed to sleep, I'm awakened by the thoughts of items left undone. Rather than enjoying the life I treasure, I'm anxiously anticipating my next obligation, wondering if I've fallen short of someone's expectations.

Expectations!  That's it....maybe.  I'm an overachiever.  Most of my life has been spent working toward ambitious goals, not satisfied with simply reaching the goal.  My competitive nature finds me striving to excel in everything I do.  It isn't enough to simply show up; I really do attempt to give my best effort in everything I undertake.  The problem is, when I over commit, I'm bound to drop a ball or two.  For example, my son shows up to his play wearing lime green pants and a black t-shirt when he was supposed to be in a white turtleneck and jeans.  When do I notice this oversight?  In the middle of his performance.  I'm supposed to provide a meal for a friend.  When I finally remember five minutes before time, forget homemade; I'm scrambling for takeout.  It seems now the harder I strive the more that is expected.

Have you considered the ridiculous expectations that are presently placed on moms?  Rearing responsible children isn't good enough anymore.  We are expected to work full time, parent full time, run marathons, look good in running tights, preside over the PTO, teach Sunday school, grow a garden, volunteer, room mom, plan, shop, and create meals, take children to practice, pick them up, help with homework, maintain a home that looks like it could be in Better Homes and Gardens, all while looking as if we just jumped out of a photo shoot at J. Crew.  And that's the minimum expectation.  The more we do the more that is expected.  Don't believe me?  Attempt to explain that you need to get out of an obligation because you have too much on your plate.  Eye rolling followed by, "We are all too busy these days, aren't we?"  There are days I feel like I am surrounded by super moms who make all of this look effortless.  Stop it ladies.  Seriously, stop it, you're killing those of us who forget we are wearing pajamas until we are checking out at Publix or those of us who think shoving our children's toys under the bed suffices as cleaning.

Clearly, I have a problem.  I struggle with meeting expectations and with worrying about what others think of me.  And, I'll admit that when you explain to people you run a business, home school your kids, and actually used your crockpot once this month, the looks of admiring shock feel good.  The "how do you pull it off" question makes you feel a bit like supermom until you realize that it...IS....KILLING.....YOUR.....SPIRIT.  The things that feed my soul:  praying, reading, writing, running, lazing around with my family; these things have felt like guilty indulgences that I can't afford for too long.  So for me, this must be the year where I resolve to remember that I perform for an audience of one......God.  When my pride and ego have me roaring down the track of over-commitment, I must slam on the brakes and ask myself, "Does this glorify God?"  "Does this jeopardize the health and happiness of my marriage or family?"  Because this life can't be about me and about living up to everyone else's expectations, it has to be about HIM.

This year has to be a year where I stop allowing the comparison trap to rob me of my joy.  It has to be the year where I learn to say no to anything that doesn't edify my relationship with Christ and with my family.  I'm faced with decisions everyday, where I must pick between usually several very good opportunities, even opportunities to help others, but I must learn to choose the best yes and feel comfortable saying no.  What if I'm missing the one, truly great opportunity God has placed before me because I'm too busy committing to everything that comes my way?  What if I'm settling for good instead of great?  God is a big God, and it's time I learn that He can do anything He wants without me.  If I say no, maybe that gives the right person the opportunity to say yes.

Girls, I believe we fall victim to this much more than our guys, so let's do this together.  Let's agree moms that it's okay to wear jogging pants to Publix, that it's all right to not look like Emma Watson or Evangeline Lily every time we walk out the front door, that it's just fine to shop for our kids at Target, that sweet potato fries are vegetables, that some days adequate must be good enough, that none of us have it all together.  Let's stop pretending.  (Really, stop pretending, I need someone else to admit that they too have occasional bladder issues when they sneeze or cough while running or jumping on the trampoline.) Let's stop over committing, let's stop judging, and start encouraging each other to make choices that are best for our family.  It's okay to say no to good things because that means we can say yes to the best things...to the things that feed our soul, that feed our family's soul, and that feed our relationship with God.  Let's resolve to do that this year.