Brains and Brawn
BRAINS & BRAWN
Coming back from Serbia, I couldn’t help but gloat. I was still on a high from my ski trip and, given all my achievements, I was so damn proud of myself. You see, all my life, I had been made to feel as though I wasn’t good enough, at least when it came to sports.
“He’s never been a fan of sports…”
“He’s book-smart!”
“Why is he even playing?”
“Why does he have to be on our team?”
“Great, we’re stuck with the dud again!”
Growing up, those were the kinds of comments I’d hear on most days. And it wasn’t too difficult to understand why. I was never as athletic as those around me. I was, however, ‘smart’ – a word people threw at me to disguise the nuances of being considered completely crappy at anything physical.
I don’t think I was necessarily crappy, mind you. It’s not like there’s a standardised test that measures your sporting ability, after all. Except there is – or at least there seemed to be one in Malta. Apparently, there was one universal yardstick separating the sporty kids from the nerdy ones: whether or not you were good at football. In Malta, if you weren’t into football, that was it – you weren’t into sports.
I, for one, never quite understood why my dad and brother would waste countless hours watching some twenty men chase a ball from one side of a pitch to the other, especially when they could’ve been watching Sailor Moon instead. Nor could I understand what was supposed to be so fascinating about the stereotypical dumb jock. I would’ve chosen brains over brawn any damn day!
Fitting In
I can’t quite say peer pressure didn’t exert its influence on me, though. Day in, day out, you’d find me in the schoolyard doing my best not to suck as much as my classmates expected me to, desperately trying not to become a hindrance to those who actually knew what they were doing.
I wanted to improve so I could prove to myself that I wasn’t just some smart nerd. I wanted to be acknowledged by the cool ones in my class too. I wanted to fit in. Try as I might, however, I never improved all that much. I mean, yeah, sure, by the end of my five years at secondary school, I could kick the ball, pass it around, stave off a goal or even score one myself on occasion. For all intents and purposes, however, I was still firmly in the C team – although I’d regularly play with the Bs (I even played with the As a couple of times!).
That said, football never really intrigued me. Nor did it ever come effortlessly to me – not like it seemed to for everyone else, at least. When it finally dawned on me that I’d never measure up to the rest of them, I retreated into my very safe, very comfortable geeky bubble.
I replaced football with Yu-Gi-Oh! duels and Pokémon card battles. My dribbling skills might have left a lot to be desired, but no one knew their way around the Shadow Realm or could use a Milotic quite like I did. On those benches where I spent most of my lunch breaks, I was the jock. I was the cool guy. I was the undisputed king.
And that was how things continued for years. There were sports on one side and me on the other, both of us living two completely separate lives. To be fair, we did cross paths on a couple of occasions. I started playing table tennis and was actually pretty decent at it, at least until I realised I’d never compare to that one guy competing in the world championships. Then came tennis, which I was surprisingly good at until we started renting the court mainly to get high.
Still, they were nothing more than brief affairs – whirlwind romances that ended almost as soon as they began and left nary a hickey in their wake.
From Zero to Hero
Then I decided to get a gym membership. It was after a month in Pécs that I did it – a month spent drinking, smoking and indulging in all my hedonistic tendencies that had me feeling like crap.
Hitting rock bottom had shaken me to my core and somehow, I got off my arse and I started using my body for something other than carrying me from my bed to the fridge and back again, with the occasional stop at the bathroom. I started working out. When I began seeing a difference, both in my physique and my psyche, I trained even harder. And, the more I trained, the stronger and buffer I became.
Just to set things straight, I’m not talking professional-bodybuilder strong or buff – but definitely more so than the average guy next door. Friends, acquaintances and complete strangers began complimenting my physique and praising the work I had put into it. For the first time in my life, I felt confident about my entire body rather than just my brain.
Suddenly, I no longer felt the urge to vomit whenever I looked at myself naked in the mirror. Quite the contrary. Once, while piss drunk at a club, I actually made out with my own reflection. Now that’s a level of narcissism I genuinely thought I’d never experience – certainly not back when I was being chosen last for football!
What Defines an Athlete?
The gym taught me discipline and perseverance. But, most importantly, it showed me that perhaps I wasn’t as hopeless at physical activity as I had always believed. Or, better yet, that maybe I wasn’t as hopeless as I had been made to feel. That was when my perspective began to change. Turns out, football isn’t the only sport in existence. Amazing news, right?
Turns out, being inept at one sport doesn’t automatically make you inept at every other one. Turns out, sports don’t belong to a select few. And, it also turns out that I wasn’t merely book-smart. It had taken me a ridiculously long time to understand that sport wasn’t exclusive to one specific community. Physical activity could be competitive, sure, but it could also be a way to connect with my own body, with other people and with nature. It could be about improving myself. It could be about discipline, health and personal growth. It could even be fun!
Once that finally sank in, I knew I wanted to try my hand at every activity that intrigued me. Since then, I’d completed god knows how many treks across the world, spent two months in Honduras completing my Divemaster programme, dedicated a week in El Salvador to practising surfing and now spent another week in Kopaonik learning how to ski. Not to mention all the hours I’d spent bouldering, freediving, paddleboarding, kayaking, cycling and practising yoga.
Does that sound like someone who hates sports? I might not excel at every activity I try, and I might be a slow learner, granted. But what I lack in natural talent, I make up for through hard work, discipline and perseverance.
The Sporty Nerd
Looking back, I have no idea how I ever let all that BS get to me. How did I allow other people’s narrow definition of athleticism to close my mind off to all of this?
Cause now? Now I can’t even imagine my life without physical activity. I still love reading and writing, don’t get me wrong. But doing nothing else would drive me nuts. I need to go hiking, cycle and swim. I love working out and practising my daily yoga. I spend my time longing for the next trekking holiday or diving trip somewhere across the world. I might not be particularly skilful. Hell, on my very best day, I might still suck. But guess who’s got two thumbs and doesn’t give a flying crap? This very sporty, very nerdy guy who just conquered his first ski slopes and lived to tell the tale.
Who the hell would’ve thought I’d ever reach this point back when I was still in school, waiting to be chosen last? Certainly not me. I just wish I could go back in time and tell Kid Marius to hang in there. That his time will come. That his story’s yet to unfold. Hell, I wish I could say this to everyone going through something like that. Because even if it sounds preachy or idealistic, everyone deserves to hear these words…
To every kid who gets chosen last, who is branded the dud or made to believe that being bad at one thing means being bad at everything – don’t let their narrow little world become yours.
You might not have found your thing yet. Maybe it’s skiing, diving, climbing, dancing, running or something you haven’t even heard of. You might be awkward at first. You might fall, fail and look completely ridiculous. Do it anyway. Being chosen last by someone else does not mean you have to choose yourself last too.
Keep searching, keep moving and give yourself the chance to discover just how much your body can actually do. One day, you might look back at the kid standing alone in that schoolyard and wish you could tell them the truth: You were never the dud. You were simply playing the wrong game!