The Making of an Athlete - Trials and Tribulations of Athleticism

Sometimes I wonder if I could have been an Olympian. There are many components at play but the main one seems to be athleticism. The main reason I was judged as unathletic in school was simple. I was raised by immigrants, neither of whom watched or was interested in professional sports, and while I believe my dad was averse to athletic competition, and did not like to exert himself physically (which he more than made up for through mental exertion) he must have seen that I was not deemed as athletic and wanted me to have every advantage in that regard. So he took what he read and learned, and tried to see if that would make a difference. A scholars approach, which was not misplaced, but lacked a crucial element. But more on that in a moment.

My hockey skates. I loved those Super Tacks!

Growing up I was always interested in playing. I was very good at testing things, and observing things. I would test the limits of balance, and agility on occasion, and would gauge the possibility of success based on what I saw others doing. This would not have been a problem if I had distinguished between those my size, and those much larger than me. Someone larger could easily jump over the puddle, and it took some time to understand why the same approach landed me in the puddle instead.

It was around grade 7 that my grades in physical education excelled. I was starting to grasp the rules of sport, which is where I wish there was more focus. There were a lot of assumptions made before then about how the game was played, and so I didn't achieve because I couldn't develop strategy or even know what I needed to do at what time. Scoring on your own net is confusing when the teacher flips the sides of teams. In grade 7 I found myself saying to myself, "Why didn't you explain that? I can do that." As soon as I found out that you could catch the football as an interception, I started intercepting like crazy. I watched everyone else push or hit the ball, so I did the same thing. But I had a knack for analyzing how things would play out. If I guarded a player well, they would never get thrown the ball, but if I made it seem as though they were open, and wait till the quarterback wound up and then pounced, I got in front of the ball easily to pick it out. But of course it was confusing when sometimes I was praised, and other times I was cursed. If it was their last down (opportunity to throw the ball) you didn't want to intercept. I recall a game of dodgeball where I was the last one on my side again the last one on the other side. I remember many of my peers couldn't believe it, but I had a keen eye, and figured out that it was a patience game. Wait till the other side makes a mistake. I'll never forget that game. I had few moment of glory back then.

It was this ability to read the field in all sports that allowed me to improve exponentially. I wasn't strong nor did I have incredible dexterity, but I had a mental advantage, and a persistence. As the years went on, and my muscle memory improved, and my understanding of the games grew, I became quite an athlete. When I started playing soccer, I found my position on defence didn't require the footwork skills I lacked, and felt I found my place when a friend referred to me as a pillar on the field, frustrating players who were often denied a goal scoring opportunity because of my relentlessness. I still lacked fundamental strategy.

My dad's heart was in the right place when he enrolled me in figure skating when I was in grade 4. He had read that hockey players had an advantage if they had first learned to figure skate. And he wasn't wrong. Skating was the one activity before grade 7 where I was, at the very least, on a level playing field with my peers, but often enough it provided a huge advantage. I enjoyed figure skating, but as soon as I got to the stage of jumping and spinning, and falling on my ass repeatedly, I stopped enjoying it. But by then I had the fundamental skills necessary to float around the rink and make it to the last stages of British Bulldog, a game where you tried to make it across the rink without being tagged by those in the centre. Eventually my cousin was sent to take me to buy hockey equipment. I would take the bus to the rink after Saturday Morning Classes, and my dad might have come to one of my games, but he didn't understand it so he was likely bored watching. And it's cold. I only signed up for one year of hockey in the end. I managed one assist the whole season by simply passing the puck up from my defensive position, and our star player managed to get a break-away and score. My coach repeatedly told me to watch the off side. He taught me the strategy of what to do at the blue line, and where to go, as the puck moved around in the opposing team's end, but he never explained the magic of the blue line which dictated off side. I heard it a lot. "Watch the off-side!" and "That wasn't off-side!" I didn't know I should never let the puck past the blue line. Many years later when I was part of a hockey playoff pool, I watched a bit of hockey and managed to figure out the whole off-side thing. It's pretty easy to understand, really. If you ever want to understand it, let me know. I'm your guy.

Right before my dad passed away, I had just started working at the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, The Mother Corp, and I started working out. It wasn't really my thing, so I just continued with sport, but explored something I could do more regularly. So I bought a rowing machine. A nifty beautiful Concept II rower Model B, which I have since upgraded to a Model C. I remember one time I was on the rowing machine, and my dad came looking for me in my new place, and he just lay on my bed watching me row. I can imagine what he thought. He probably thought I was slightly insane. He didn't understand or comprehend why anyone would do anything that resulted in breathing hard, sweating, and seemingly toy with thresholds of pain. I doubt he ever experienced the endorphins and high that comes with physical exertion. A few years after he passed away. Although one of the youngest of his siblings, his more athletic brothers and sisters outlived him considerably. The importance of regular exercise was not lost on me. I eventually took a introduction to rowing course at the Argonaut Rowing Club. I loved it, but the early morning hours and one of the girls on my team who constantly blamed me for our lack of progress (but was finally put in her place by our coxswain/coach) resulted in my abandoning it. Our coxswain Ralph wanted to train me in skulling which meant individual rowing, but I was tearing the skin off my hands, so I bowed out. I do miss it though. There was something amazing about being so close to the water, and I felt so at peace. More recently, I found that same feeling doing some kayaking. My first time was with my friend Diana I believe, and she loves it. The time I did it on my own was in New Jersey, and my growth mindset allowed me to venture far from my cousin's cottage, with the belief that I had the muscle and steam to get back.

After rowing, I got into running, and started training for a full marathon. An injury kept me from keeping up my full marathon training, but I was growing tired of the super long distances. Although I haven't run a full marathon, I ran several half marathons, leaving my 5 and 10ks behind. But I haven't run in a long time. I think when I finally came to terms with my dad passing away, I no longer needed the running, which was a time I could have conversations with my dad. I never ran with music. Ever. I loved it, and miss it, sometimes.

I eventually got into cross-country biking, and everything changed. I think I wanted to do something epic after I drove across America along Route 66. I read about a mayor in a town who biked from Santa Monica to his city on Route 66 to raise money and boost tourism. I never liked the speed demons on the bike paths, but I did enjoy biking, and when I got a nice upright dutch bike, I discovered biking could be comfortable. A tadpole recumbent bike was even more comfortable! And if you're biking from Northern Washington to Southern California, you want to be comfortable. In the end, I sold Rawk Lobster, my tadpole trike, to my friend, and built a custom touring bicycle. Equally comfortable, to a certain degree, and a lot zippier. I have yet to do a really long tour, but I managed almost 260km on a newly injured knee in Nova Scotia. My first day riding, the twinge was there. I would ice it at night and managed 3 days of riding, getting off and pushing up hills which provides ed too painful. A few weeks after I did my Pacific Coast tour, I completed my first century. 100 miles in a single day. That was an entirely different experience than doing 50-65 miles a day along the coast, even though it was relatively flat. My love of biking will never die. I currently have 4 bikes, if you include my old mountain bike which resides at my villa in Egypt. I love them all, and they all have names. But I will try to have fewer.

Rawk Lobster II

Lately, I've been doing ballet, which is hard work. I'm also going to take up basketball, although I'll learn on my own before doing pick-up games. But I think I'm eventually going to focus my exercise more on gymnastics. If I'm going to raise a bunch of kids, I'm going to need to be able to keep up with them. How's that for motivation to stay in shape?

So there you have it. The making of an athlete, sort of. I don't think anyone would look at me and think I was an athlete, but looks can be deceiving. I'm full of energy, and I have a growth mindset when it comes to what I can accomplish physically. I don't think I see any limitations, and I think as my body ages, I'll embrace it even more.