Me, an Athlete?

Since the Spartan Race, I've been feeling more athletic. It's as if my body, having been extensively trained for more than six years by backpacking and CrossFit and some running, has finally broken through my sedentary childhood and young adulthood to reveal that I can be athletic too.

I'm still a pretty slow runner. But I run. And I'm slow at most of the cardio related things that I do at CrossFit, but I do them as hard as I can. I do them consistently. And I'm making improvements in my cardio, slowly but surely.

And those improvements are noticeable to me, if not really to anyone else. I mean, I'm still the slowest runner in most classes I go to. But I go.

I go and I enjoy myself. I might not be able to lift the most, but I enjoy lifting weights and learning how to improve my technique, now more than ever, because now I have this confidence, this faith, that I can improve and that someday I will be lifting the heavier weights. That makes it all that much more important to build a strong foundation. To practice the things that I can do so that they are highly proficient and efficient movements that can be applied to ever cooler things as I continue to gain strength.

It's taken me a long time to get to this point. A lot of self-talk convincing myself to stick with CrossFit. A lot of self-talk convincing myself that doing the workout at my best possible speed was still good enough, even when that speed was slower than everyone else. Okay, I'm still heavily involved with that kind of self-talk. But it has changed from "I'm not athletic so it doesn't matter how fast I go as long as I try hard" to "I'm athletic and doing my best; no need to compare to anyone else."

But that's a big improvement.

I'm at the point now where I can honestly look forward to doing crazy things like muscle-ups, even if it's going to take time and concentrated effort. I've proven that I can put in the time and the effort and get results. I know that I can change my body now. I proved it to myself.

Becoming an Athletic Type

I think the last time I went shoe shopping was more than four years ago. About that time, I found a pair of shoes that worked for me. The Merrell Pace Glove. It fit perfectly, required no break in period, and had plenty of room for the wide spread of the toes of my right foot.

I originally bought them from REI, but then I started buying online, because I knew the shoe I wanted. Whenever a pair wore out, I'd buy another. Same size, same style. Color was irrelevant, which is how I ended up with a lime green pair with purple trim. But mostly I had black ones.

They upgraded the style once, from a 2 to a 3 or something. And I didn't like the changes, but they weren't significant enough to stop me from buying them. Wearing them. Wearing them out.

But this time, when they wore out, I discovered something awful.

Merrell had stopped making that style.

I know women are supposed to enjoy shoe shopping, but my feet have always been an awkward fit. So I have always hated it. And shopping for athletic shoes was a special torture. I consistently felt like I did not belong in specialty shoe stores. I would get nervous and upset and sweat a lot. I'd feel awful that the shoes wouldn't fit and it wasn't unusual for a trip to end in tears.

So I really girded my loins before making a trip to the Nike store to try on CrossFit specific shoes. I tried on several pairs there. None were wide enough, but I didn't panic. I didn't feel guilt at wasting their time. I just left without buying anything. We tried REI and DICK's Sporting Goods. No dice. No shoes that felt right on my feet.

When we went to Costco for our regular grocery shopping trip, I decided to check out what they had. Why not? I ended up buying a pair, because my old Merrell's were worn out to the point of hurting my feet and these were only $25 and felt wide enough.

But the big trip was when I braved the specialty store. A running store that I hoped would carry something close to what I needed; a shoe good for CrossFit that would work for the Spartan Race. I explained that to the clerk, leading with the CrossFit, and I didn't feel like a fraud saying that I do CrossFit. Even to this very fit young woman.

She measured my feet, analyzed my gait and brought out four pairs of shoes for me to try on. One of them was wide enough and Ambrose and I left with a pair of shoes for me to wear. I didn't even get a little upset. No crying.

And I realized that I'm finally not feeling like an impostor athlete. Sure, it's taken about four and a half years of CrossFit, and I know I don't really look that athletic at first glance. But I know what I can do. I'm comfortable and confident that I am a person who needs expensive shoes for my hobby of exercise.

I'm thinking my next boot purchase will go a lot easier.

Ready for Some Football

I can't say that I had never been to a college football game before last Saturday. But the one game that I had attended was not exactly a large affair. It was more than twenty years ago, a game at Wheaton College against Millikin. And the only reason I was there was because I lived in the town next to Wheaton and my cousin was Millikin's punter.

What I remember of the Division III match-up was simple metal bleachers, not much bigger than the ones at my brother's park district baseballs games. I remember a grassy field that extended under said bleachers. I remember walking around, bored, because I didn't know the rules of the game and I didn't want to know. I watched my cousin when he punted without understanding that punting was not a good thing for his team to be doing.

And so, when I attended the Boise State versus San Jose State game on Saturday, it was an entirely different kind of experience.

There was no grassy field to be seen. Instead, Albertsons Stadium hid the famous blue turf from view until I passed through the security line, complete with metal detectors and the possibility of additional screenings by wand wielding security officials. Past that point, I couldn't see anything but concrete until I climbed a set of stairs.

The main concourse reminded me of being a hockey game; food and drink were available and there were plenty of restrooms. But it was all open air, and I imagined it could be quite a miserable experience in the cold and the rain. I could see glimpses of the field, but it was clear that this was not the place from which one was supposed to view the game.

To get to my seat, I had to climb yet more stairs, and then more stairs. I was only a few rows down from the very top of the seating area under the Stueckle Sky Center, and my legs felt every narrow concrete step. The steps felt extra narrow because I had taken the precaution of wearing my hiking boots to keep my feet warm. They add an inch to my height and at least two inches to my foot length.

I arrived at my seat about a half an hour before the game started and I just stared. At the people still making their ways to seats, at the teams practicing on the blue turf below, at the marching band gathering and the large American flag being held across the field in preparation for the anthem.

The field looked so small from up there, as if 100 yards were 100 feet instead. And, after I got to see the exciting ritual of the hammer wielding home team entering the field and the marching band playing the anthem, when the game actually started, it still seemed small. The players on each team seemed to move down the field at incredibly fast rates.

And yet, the game itself seemed to go incredibly slowly. Thanks to my backpacking inflatable seat cushion, my rear wasn't freezing on the metal bleacher bench, but by the middle of the second quarter my bladder was starting a war with my desire a) to see everything that was happening in the game and b) not to have to climb those stairs again.

That other long ago game was an afternoon game, and I remember that we stayed for the whole game. This game started after 8 pm and it took an incredible effort to make it past half time (which I wanted to see for the marching band). I watched one more drive after that and gave up to ride my bike home after 10 pm. As luck would have it, Boise State got a touchdown on that drive and I was able to head out on a high note.

I had a good time at the game. It turns out that knowing the rules contributes a great deal more to the enjoyment of a football game than simply knowing the punter.