AAs most 40-year-olds can attest, our bodies don’t recover like they used to. I never learned to move my body. I was a chubby kid turned majestic adult chonklord, and the message in the gyms was clear: I didn’t belong and I shouldn’t try.
Now I’m hooked on exercise for the first time. All it took was one hospital stay with bilateral pneumonia and the pulmonary rehabilitation that followed to put me on this new and successful path. I can’t believe I missed out on the joy of strength and pride that comes after an angry jog around the block for so long.
Elementary school mornings began with similar laps of the school to encourage fitness and concentration. I felt self-conscious from the age of five because I was slower than the others. That frustrated people. I had missed the nonexistent class on how to run, but everyone else seemed to know anyway.
Harsh comments came from kids who were more focused on my clumsy attempts during an athletics carnival than their own progress. “It was so much fun to see you trying to run,” one boy announced loudly as the crowd gathered. He hurt me more than the bruises I had gotten while trying to overcome the obstacles. I replied, “It’s not as much fun as watching you try to read.” Everyone gasped: he had gone too far. Cruelty is only acceptable when related to size or lack of sporting ability.
The sport-as-hell experience doesn’t just apply to clumsy kids who look like Winnie the Pooh. I spoke with Scott Comber, a personal trainer who first discovered a love of fitness and training as an adult and later ran a gym for six years.
“My memories of school sports are people yelling in my face, exaggerated violence that kids were forced to participate in, and inattentiveness. We never learned anything that could establish healthy patterns,” she says.
After discovering the workout as an adult, “I got to the point where I loved it so much I wanted to share it. My gym was inclusive, non-threatening, and all strengths and abilities were respected.”
Comber says a lot of effort went into “undoing the emotional damage the way people had been taught. It’s healing for me to know that I didn’t have that opportunity when I was younger, but the people I coached had a nurturing and caring experience that rescued them from future physical problems.”
I wish I had figured out how to rescue myself instead of internalizing damaging rhetoric and leaving a more active lifestyle. But there was no visible path for that to happen in my formative years: all sitcoms and movies ridiculed fat people for existing. Making myself as small as possible, trying to draw the least amount of attention, felt like the only way to live that moment.
My memories are dotted with encounters that communicated “not for you, fat man.” The fatal mistake of wearing a Sportsgirl sweater (which I didn’t realize was an oxymoron) produced snorts everywhere. I was regularly denied a spot circling the jump rope. My face often burned with embarrassment, the result of trying and then being taught not to.
Although I enjoyed the gaming element of the sport, my lack of coordination and speed seemed to be something I inadvertently inflicted on others, ruining everyone’s fun. In a life where fitting means one size fits all, kids don’t value effort and focus. Finding a safe place in the pecking order is all that matters.
High school brought with it the nightmare of cruel and elitist teachers, with a few kind and encouraging exceptions. If he had walked in with a confident arrogance, it is quite possible that he would have had an easier time. But as it was, I had a feeling of apprehension every time I put on my sports uniform.
I never learned to use my body in a way that incorporated the strengths that I had. If only he had known that there is more to sport than speed, and much more to education than competition.
Three months ago I came into pulmonary rehab with Jesse, my physical therapist. It was a hand up and out of the murky fear she’d been trapped in. Her warmth and encouragement gave me a new start.
For six weeks I learned how to move my body safely. We started with walking and gentle hand weights to reacquaint my lungs with airflow. Every week the weights got bigger. I became stronger and stronger, and began to feel something new. I looked forward to that feeling every day and still look forward to it: walking, biking, and weights are now a joyous priority.
My body can be a difficult place to live for many reasons, but seeing myself in the eyes of someone I trust was key to changing the narrative. Every step in my progress was celebrated, there were no warnings or moments of self-deprecation.
The message that I could love my body, with nothing to fear or be ashamed of, made its way into my sense of identity. Earning my spot was important, but it helped that someone who knew what he was doing gave me permission. Anyone can be nice, but getting the basics I needed, because I was ready, meant a lot.
Learning to love exercise as an adult probably depends on what motivates you. Small, measurable, technical increments toward a goal, coupled with an encouraging expert, may work for some, while gentle walks in nature for much-needed peace may ignite a spark for others.
Just like learning to ride a bike, there is a moment when you are outside and you can’t believe it at first, the feeling of freedom without those guiding hands. Once you find it, it never leaves you.
My physical education reached 41 years. I was welcomed into a mental space and lifestyle I didn’t know I could enter. My gratitude overshadows my resentment, but I feel intense sadness for that cute little boy who just wanted a turn like everyone else.
