Self + Physical Activity = Panic

I wanted to share with the group about the above formula, which has haunted me since the 1st Grade. I remember playing in a children's soccer league - ASO - and was responsible for kicking the ball from the sideline. I went to kick it, but missed, sending my foot over and above the ball. The adults and children camped out along the field broke out in laughter, and I remember thinking to myself, "You idiot! Kick the ball! A retard could do this!" I kicked the ball on second try but quit soccer that year. When my parents asked me why, I told them I didn't want to do everything my brothers did. My father, a lawyer, accepted this reasoning as sound, and my mother only wanted me to "be happy."

When middle school rolled around, I knew that PE would be my worst hour of the day, and sure enough, I dreaded every time I had to head off to the gymnasium. Our coach - Coach Dees - was your typical middle-aged, gut-over-the-waist teacher who treated the whole of us like laundry he had to wash. A lamented task, but one that he could do yelling and blowing his whistle, rattling off comments over his mega-phone when it so pleased him. For three years, I interacted with Coach Dees, and as an awkward middle-schoolers do, I did my best to stay as far off of his radar as possible. But of course, like out in the wild, the pack soon identifies its weakest link, as Coach Dees did when our class went for its first "Run around this track here four times, and don't stop for nothing" runs.

Off I went, hoofing it as best as my burgeoning body could muster, my little dust storm of sorts forming behind me and the other kids taking up the proverbial rear. The first lap was arduous on a number of fronts, though namely I found I was cramping. My legs were in pain, and my throat was dry as a nunnery.

"Get running, Cannain," I heard him shout. His voice raised higher when saying my last name, which I tried to ignore. I nodded in acknowledgment of his command and tried again to propel myself in what seemed like a completely futile experiment in human pain. I ran and ran, the minutes going by slower and slower as I rounded the final lap. When I was finished, my splendid coach started to walk away but turned to me and said, "Everyone could see ya running like a girl." He laughed and walked away as my face turned crimsom, wanting only to run now -- far and fast away.

And in strange ways, as I have been working out, I have had these early memories surface. My early experiences with working out, the negativity I felt, and the often-external rejection I felt when engaged in physical activity. And thus, there is a sense of panic that I sometimes feel, as I near the gym or Sweat360's facilties, and I must fight to let go of that emotion. As I let go, I have been grabbing onto a new identity, one formed in strength, determination, and focus. I have begun to see myself as an athete, a hard-working one, who gives his utmost for his own benefit. And as I do this, I find my strength increasing, and with that growth, I imagine myself running by Coach Dees, running strong and fast.

- Daniel