By Clove Morgan
The last time I played kickball, I slipped and landed flat on my back. I was only eight, and I just wanted to prove to the other kids that I was cool enough to play. Even though I was a girly girl and preferred the swings at recess, everyone knew you weren’t a part of the cool clique unless you could kick that red rubber ball halfway across the parking lot. Unfortunately, I was not a naturally graceful child. I wouldn’t say I was the clumsiest, but I bumped into my fair share of desks and tripped over my own feet once in a while. That red rubber ball, though, was my archenemy from that fateful April afternoon forward.
I never really liked gym class. I remember all of the boys in my class and the girls who played on the same after-school soccer team being stoked every time gym was added to our schedule. I preferred the library. Once I gained consciousness of the world and people around me, and my peers did, too, I knew I was different. I was physically bigger than the rest of them, and they sought to make me aware of it as soon as the thought popped into their head. It made me embarrassed to go to gym class. As much as I loved jump roping, square dancing, and those little neon scooters, I knew that walking through those heavy metal doors was the start of a popularity contest.
My childhood was a patchwork of teams, groups, rehearsals, and practices that didn’t quite fit. I tried everything: soccer, gymnastics, cheerleading, swim team, dance (tap, jazz, ballet, and hip-hop, to be specific), lacrosse, and volleyball. None of them stuck with me. I mean, I attended dance classes every Wednesday for a decade, but I loathed the hour spent in front of those floor-to-ceiling mirrors. I had unfortunate luck with acceptance in physically active spaces, gyms, fields, classrooms, and the like, pushing me to resent them and their sports altogether.
By the time I reached high school, I dropped dancing and stopped pursuing other avenues of exercise. Frankly, it was because of the treatment I received for existing in a bigger body. I was often singled out or left behind; friends and even sometimes family turned their noses up at me because I didn’t match the rest of the set. Because of that, I even grew embarrassed in the privacy of my own bedroom when trying at-home workout routines–and don’t even get me started on the gym.
I had a narrow perspective on what exercise could be. In my experience, it had to be something exhausting, boring, or even painful–I didn’t realize I was meant to enjoy myself. The biggest misconception when it comes to moving your body is the idea that it is a chore. Thinking of it as maintenance or a daunting task that needed to be completed was what made it hard for me to find my groove with it. At least until I didn’t have a car anymore.
After I moved from my small hometown to the city for college, I didn’t have a car to take me wherever I wanted to go anymore. My campus, though spread around the city in a variety of buildings, was close enough to walk to, and most of the time, that was my only option if the buses weren’t on time. I walked to and from class almost every day. It was a time for me to get to know the area while listening to my favorite music. I found myself anticipating it every morning and afternoon, like self-care that didn’t feel like it was hanging over my head.
Walking was the beginning of my love for moving my body again. I never knew that something as simple as a stroll counted as exercise. I was under the impression it had to be a rigid regiment of reps and sets for sixty minutes straight. I began shifting the language with which I used to think of working out, hence the phrase “moving my body.” I cannot recall who said it or when, but I was scrolling through social media, and one of the many body-positive influencers I followed used it when describing a dance workshop they attended. That way of thinking changed the connotation exercise held in my head from a negative to a positive.
I took up walking even more as the winter months transitioned to warmer months. Part of it was largely thanks to the new space I had to explore. In my hometown, my house was in a cul-de-sac surrounded by farms and cornfields. There was nothing to look at, see or explore. Most of the time, if I were to leave my house on foot for any reason, I was the only one outside, so people-watching was completely out of the question. In the city, though, there was so much to see. A large part of what makes moving your body a necessity is the mental stimulation it brings. If you’re one that finds joy in team sports or using weight machines in the gym, that’s amazing! If you’re more like me, you might need something visually or auditorily engaging so that it becomes something you look forward to rather than dread.
There are a million different ways to move your body without needing a routine or a group to join. Dancing on your own while you clean or cook, walking to shops or classes, or biking around your neighborhood are all equally as valid as a daily workout routine. It almost always has to do with your mindset when it comes to providing your body with what it needs. Your body does so much for you every day; it takes you from place to place, lets you taste your favorite foods, and allows you to hug your loved ones. Nourishing it through methods of self-care is the best way to give back to your body. Don’t you think the thing that does so much for you has earned a little love, too?
Celebrate your body by moving it in ways that bring you joy. There is no rule stating that your body needs to be aching or that your self-esteem needs to suffer in order to have a successful workout. The most important thing is getting yourself in tune with your mind and body’s needs. Make yourself the priority and care for your vessel in the way that’s most suited for you, not for social norms.
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