IAM THE JOCK. In the next seven days I will: watch the finals of the Australian Open, the Super Bowl (eating my slow-cooked bison chili), plus as much college basketball and professional hockey as possible; attend two of my daughter’s basketball games, play indoor tennis with her, and take her to shoot hoops; go to the gym at least three times, snowshoe every day I can; and peruse mainsail covers online for a small sailboat we recently acquired. I will also read some sports pages. It all seems natural to me, since I am a sportwriter’s daughter.
So is my sister, by the way, though to get her blood flowing, she’ll do yoga.
I like yoga. Granted, I’d like it a lot more if it came with a ball, bat, stick or bleacher, but hey, despite what Americans have done to it, even I know that yoga isn’t a sport.
Right?
Actually I think my problem with yoga is that it’s too much in my head, a place I prefer not to be when in motion. My idea of the perfect vacation is skiing, where if I get in my head, my life is at risk; where if you think about your problems or your taxes, or take one single second to om your way down the hill, you’ll die.
At the end of the week of skiing, having thought about nothing but skiing, I’m reset for life. Given a week to repair and refresh, Margaret goes to yoga retreats. These things frighten me, and not only because I imagine them as overflowing with sincere people who are genuinely invested in me finding peace, but because I hear they are all about living in the now. Sports, which are all about keeping the ball in play, the knees bent for the next impact, the spinnaker packed for the next race, I guess, are all about the next now.
And so, I guess, am I.
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I am not even sure where to begin with this one, so I will sit quietly (in a half-lotus perhaps) and meditate on a response.
I always wanted to be a jock, but really poor eye-hand coordination and a fundamental lack of interest in sports in my family both colluded against me. Now, I have to force myself to exercise, but I do love it when I get in a good routine, and at 42, oddly, I am way more game to try new things than I ever was when young (don’t care anymore if I embarrass myself, perhaps.) I have promised my son I will learn to ski, and since it’s a promise I intend to keep, your perspective on the focus required is extra valuable.
But, P.S., I loves me some yoga, too. Maybe next time Margaret and I do yoga together, we’ll get you to join us :-)