Week 14…

Mental fortitude aside (which, let’s face it, we’re most of us learning has its own consequences), I never was a very strong human being. I was/am “solidly-built”, so the bullies didn’t mess with me physically, but I’ve always felt “less than” in some ways when it comes to my body and me.

I hated team sports, because the pressure of competition eclipsed whatever joy there was to be discovered in learning how to use my body. Every time I couldn’t do something, I’d withdraw, and tried to shrink my too-tall-to-vanish-completely self into the background. I wasn’t graceful at ballet, I “made your [my] grandfather sad” when he came to my basketball games, and I hated PE whenever we had to take those physical fitness tests (especially the one where you sat and reached forward over a box with a meter stick attached to it… trauma).

Outside of team sports, my family would go camping, and this involved the odd hike — but I would get all itchy or wear the wrong clothes, and because I was little and terrible at articulating my feelings (especially the physical), my parents would get exasperated (which, fair, I couldn’t tell them how to make it better). In the end, I would either end up getting carried (while still crying) or trudging along at the tail end of the line (also, still crying) because I felt bad physically and emotionally.

I still feel this way whenever I can’t express myself well enough to be understood.

Now that I’m older, I have no problem saying what I feel when this strangeness occurs: like thousands of tiny ants are crawling up and down my legs and under my clothes, and when I stop moving, I get really hot and want to flay myself raw with my own nails. The Internets tell me this is likely my blood vessels opening up and histamine release, or some allergic reaction. What it is, however, is extremely uncomfortable and psychologically distressing (because, yikes, what a horrible thing for my imagination to conjure up).

It wasn’t until the summer after I turned 12 that I recall finding any delight in physical activity: volleyball. I was tall, so that helped, but I also had a really good coach; I still remember his name, Scofield (he was short, but he had a Mark Twain-like mustache and sense of humor that made him a giant). It was intramural volleyball, so although there were tournaments, Scofield had us focus on working as a team first, and how to play together. He showed me what my strengths were — I was really good at setting the ball, which…. looking at what I do for a living, that tracks — and that made the experience more fun because it gave me a goal to work towards that wasn’t “win.” Sadly, the high school volleyball coach was a witch of a woman who was all about winning, so I stopped playing after two summers, but I am grateful to Coach S. for being the first person to help me connect to my body in a way that made me feel strong instead of awkward AF.

The second time I remember really loving going to the gym was when I took Shōrin-ryū Karate at Cal Poly. First, I was there with close friends, so I had my own built-in cheer squad, but I also appreciated how the sensei explained the balance of mind, body, and spirit — you could not neglect one in pursuit of the other. And as someone who was 3,000 miles from home, wrestling with an all-consuming (and all-confusing) crush, and facing her first C- ever, I needed that grounding.

I felt the same way after my father died; I needed to continue these good habits because life suddenly seemed a lot less certain than it once had.

And yet… when life gets too overwhelming, my health is the first thing I let go. And it gets harder and harder each time to get back into my “good” routines. Which is how I then do things like, erm, tweak my lower back.

I am writing to you standing at my desk, since I cannot easily sit down. This sucks, but it’s also been a good reminder of why consistency is key. So, I will continue to go for walks in Golden Gate Park, trundle through the sands of Ocean Beach, and sign up for free Tai Chi classes through the community center — because when the going gets tough, the tough-but-recovering keep going. It beats the alternative.

SF Neighborhoods/Places Explored: Ocean Beach and Golden Gate Park; Richmond District

Soundtrack: Sailor Moon Super Best album (nothin’ more motivating than 90s girl power nostalgia)

Bus + Bench Book: The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin

Lesson-Learned: It takes so little to derail one’s progress… but, in the words of Rafiki, “you can either run from it, or learn from it”