In 2006, 2.1% of high schools provided daily physical education in the United States (Robert Wood Johnson Foundation. ActiveLivingResearch.org). In 2006, this was a statistic I was happy about. With P.E. offered only one semester of only one year, my high school most definitely was not in that measly two percent and I was sittin' pretty... fat. No, I'm joking. I was a little overweight (probably about 40 lbs) and in 2006 I was dancing almost daily. I was good at it and I enjoyed dancing though movement still got me winded and it would be great, I thought, if no one ever made me run. Ever again.
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| Dancing in Salvador da Bahia in Brazil, 2007 |
In 2004, I cheated on my physical education final. It was the first semester of my freshman year and I had drudged through first period hot and sharp and in pain. My social life was pretty good, but I did have an enemy: the track around the football field. I hated that my new friends (cross-country runners, basketball players, one who's now a nationally-ranked volleyball star) could complete the assigned laps in conversation, barely breaking a sweat. I used to tell myself, "Just get 20 more feet, and you'll be thin."
"Complete this lap and [crush of the hour] will ask you out."
"You can do this!"
But in 2004, I completed not a single lap without stopping, walking, or breaking the rewarding promise I'd made. So when the final came to run a mile (and thus get an A), and when the first students finished as I was on lap 2, and when my chest ached sharp, dry pains, and when I was the last one out there just having started the fourth go-round...
I started crying. I cried from the pain, from the embarrassment, from reconciling the popular 14-year-old life question, "Why me?" I cried because I just wanted to go home. Why did this have to be so hard? Why were they putting me through this? But to my teacher and to my class, I cried because of an injury. That was why I couldn't complete the mile. I got an A.
In 2009, I ran my first mile.
In 2010, after what had likely calculated to days, weeks, of elliptical use (elliptical use because though I was getting in shape, my emotional fear of running still resonated), I ran my first 5K. Almost on accident. My first 10K happened in the same fashion. I thought, "This feels pretty okay! I can keep going!" So I did.
In 2010, I fell in love with running. It felt good. I could escape into the mild California summer I was jogging through. Running became a form of meditation for me, it was a practice that made me feel special, at peace, energized, normal... but I think, like drinking coffee, like finishing a long book, like eating vegetables, I liked it mostly for the maturity it boasted. I liked what it did for my self-image. I liked the way it made me feel, not in my body, but in my mind. Running made me heart-healthy.
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| Ready to run 6 miles on my 20th birthday, August 2010 |
But in 2010, particularly during its close, exercise reclaimed its dreadful reputation and movement very rarely felt good, pleasurable, pain-free. It was something I was making myself do and on days my body just wasn't having it, my mind would scream, "Suck it up! You used to run six miles! What happened?"
What happened was exercising had become a chore. At goal, I was no longer motivated to exercise (and when I say "exercise," I mean Richard Simmons-type gym workouts, not the fun movement I forgot I loved, like dancing), I was no longer chipping away inches of myself. I was no longer seeing progress. In fact, what I was beginning to see was digression.
So, registering for this quarter, I placed myself in a dance class. I am a dance minor but not a fervent one... I'm a dance minor because dance has almost always been in my life, and a part of my identity. I also thought it would be a tricky way to make myself stay active. You can't become immobilly fat if you want to graduate college, Kelsi. You're a dance minor.
This quarter, I'm taking a modern class with one of the most right-for-me instructors I've ever had and a live musician who takes choreography and turns it into percussion that moves your body with or without your consent. It's twice a week and it sounds silly, but I'm feeling as if this class could quite possibly save me.
I'm still running.
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| Dancing with "Mr. Tahiti" in Papara, Tahiti September, 2010 |
Because here's the thing: being in shape allows pleasurable forms of movement, like dance, to be all the more gratifying. I'm not talking, "Oh that was fun but I'd rather be watching The Biggest Loser with my dinner on a TV tray." I'm talking real, sensual, lip-biting, feel-good movement. That's what dance is for me. And running's making it ten times more so, and because it has a real purpose again, that foot-falling, mile-traveling transportation mode is once again also turning into the best thing ever.
If you eat ice cream every evening after dinner, I'd like to encourage you to miss it for a while. A week. A month. Replace it with yogurt. Strawberries. An apple? When the time is up, have your ice cream. See what I'm talking about. (I have actually become too intimate with ice cream myself and am taking a hiatus from it until Spring, because I know it'll make me melt once we reconvene.)
Here's what I've learned: health allows for happier living, greater sensory experiences. Withdrawal from delicious moments, both in mind and in body, just makes those [albeit rare] encounters all the more delicious. Gritting through the run, the salad, the desert-less week (gasp!) makes those moments that used to be special but are now regular, special again.
Remember when your normal was once extraordinary?
This said, I must admit that even at three a day, apples (26) still feel incredible going down, and my miles traveled (21.8) are getting more and more what they used to be to me. But for the most part, enjoying living is all about missing it just enough.
In 2011, I rediscovered feeling alive.
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