My unconventional journey with physical activity

In my schooling years, PE (Physical Education) was a nightmare for me—all agony and no ecstasy. Forced physical activity felt mightily unjust and somehow indicative of a low IQ. The locker room rituals - changing, the smell of sweaty feet, the dampness (images of mold crowded my mind), and the showers - were like scenes from an existentialist horror. It reminded me of Camus' 'The Myth of Sisyphus': forever toiling with a heavy burden, meaninglessly trudging uphill. I felt an acute awareness of self, struck by the absurdity of these rituals. The profound discomfort of group changing rooms, even if single-sex, left me feeling vulnerable, exposed, and disjointed - an alien in a land whose symbols were readable but nauseating and absurd.

Swimming lessons were the horror of horrors, with very little actual teaching. The fear was almost numbing. I experienced near-drowning several times, and once, I was washed out to sea with my younger sister. She clung to me, flailing around and pushing me under. Luckily, we were rescued - or rather, she was taken from me and brought to shore, while I struggled to swim back as best I could. I was forced to learn to swim due to my asthma; it was felt necessary to develop my lungs. All I can remember is repeatedly going under and swallowing water, with it shooting up my nose into my sinuses, causing blinding headaches. Every week, I was a drowning girl.

Watching sports gives me no joy either. I must be the only South African who cares neither about the score nor who is playing whom, regardless of the national sporting fever du jour. This is a language I prefer not to understand. However, the socially sanctioned male touching and grappling in sports is interesting from a social and psychological perspective. It seems that physical activity for men may be a necessary and possibly beneficial outlet for excess energy and aggression produced by testosterone.

After my divorce, I vowed never to watch sports again, having endured my ex's habit of watching anything and everything live, at all hours. Sport commentators have a way of droning on that gets under my skin. What joy it is to live in this sport-free world, free too of the accoutrements of the social rituals that accompany sport watching, especially the drinking and 'braaing' (barbecues). The only possible exceptions to my sport aversion might be tennis, extreme sports like rock climbing, or sedate horse riding.

Despite my general aversion to sports, I did learn a martial art: Jeet Kune Do (JKD). This experience was liberating on many levels. It was profound to learn how to make a fist and to punch, to learn grappling and self-defense skills. The novelty of forming a fist for punching was strange at first. Additionally, playing with Brett's samurai sword was great fun - until I nearly cut off my foot while chopping at bougainvillea. The sword sailed through the vines with alarming ease, reminding me of the potential danger in such activities.

Today, I find contentment in my 'offsideness' and blissful ignorance of the sporting world. This journey from PE-induced anxiety to a self-aware rejection of sports culture has shaped my identity. While I've found ways to engage with physical activities on my own terms, I remain happily on the sidelines of mainstream sports enthusiasm. This position allows me to observe and critique the social phenomena surrounding sports from a unique perspective, one that values individual comfort over collective fervor.

Photo by inna mykytas: Pexels.