I have spent most of my life trying to find my inner athlete. To be clear – “athletic” isn’t my natural state. In fact, it is a term that was probably never connected to my name in a sentence unless “not” or “trying” is in front of it.

My brother was on the swim team, played hockey and baseball (very well) and participated in all sorts of school sports. My sister played field hockey and was a strong swimmer, including synchronized swimming in high school. As an adult, she did Tai Chi, played racquetball and would occasionally invite me along. My best friend has been active in softball (playing and coaching) for almost as long as I have known her. As an adult, she was a damn good bowler on her company team.

My world was filled with so many messages about my lack of coordination and the most basic of athletic abilities. The picking of teams in PE class was an experience filled with dread. The end result was a predictable outcome: either Cindy G. or I would be the last one picked. Every time.

The highlights of my school sports career included:

• Being the last person cut from the Grade 6 girls basketball team. I tried hard, but was too short.
• My mother enrolled me in tennis lessons for a few years. I assume I wasn’t particularly good as I could never find anyone to play with me. Thank you for trying Mom!
• I made it through tryouts for the junior high field hockey team, primarily because I was willing to play left wing. I was benched part way through the season when a new, and much more accomplished, Cindy G. demonstrated her prowess in the position.

The end result – heavy on nerd and light on athlete.

All this to say, I arrived at adulthood with absolute certainty that I should never, ever, ever play a team sport and that I simply lacked the right genetic makeup to participate in even the most simple of solo sports.

And then, weirdly, in my early 20’s I wandered into a Gold’s Gym and began a 3 year career as an ardent body builder. It was the 80’s, often referred to the as the “Golden Age” of body building. After receiving my one complimentary hour of training and a full body training program scrawled on a piece of paper, I was off.

I trained 6 days a week. In the absence of google, I was able to get my hands on a book or two. and evolve my program The books were pretty hard core, and no women were ever pictured. We all knew about Arnold, but what about Laura Combes?

I was fortunate that a reasonably large number of bulky males were willing to make (mostly) helpful suggestions and to spot for me when required.

I loved it. I loved how my body changed and how strong I felt as the weight and reps increased. I was frequently complimented on my back which I made a point of showing off to maximum advantage. I especially loved that it was completely my own thing. It was up to me to push myself and improve; no one kept score except for me.

After a brief attempt at competing. I started to become concerned about how the environment and community of body building was creating too much focus on small imperfections. I was worried I was becoming vain. It was time to try something else.

Aerobics and Jazzercise were everywhere. Thank you Jane Fonda. I suspect for some, it was more of a spectator sport. I started taking classes at the local community centre and quickly became a regular. I regularly followed my favourite instructors and developed a small group of like-minded friends.

At some point I realized that the music and the dancing, the “Jazz”, were actually the things that motivated me. It was time to make another change. I began taking dance classes at a little studio on Hastings Street. I started with Jazz, which I loved. Fueled by the 1980’s world of aerobics fashion, I also elevated my workout wardrobe with spandex, bright colours and head bands. (Exercise fashion still matters to me, as evidenced by two drawers full of Lululemon and sport-specific wear.)

The addition of some homemade leg warmers turned my mind to ballet. Perhaps I was inspired by my mother’s ballet and dance history. The ballet studio was one door down from the Jazz studio so an easy switch. Ballet is not for the faint of heart. I think it may have been one of the most challenging forms of movement I ever attempted. I was not particularly good, but stuck with it for a few years. I made a new set of friends and gradually developed a degree of grace, along with surprisingly lean, strong muscles.

(As an aside, I took Barre classes during the snowy winter months in Edmonton. NO comparison and lesser results.)

I continued some form of dancing until I became pregnant with my first child. I wanted to stay fit and healthy, but ballet became increasingly difficult. I returned to aerobics. The prenatal classes combined land and water exercises, and I stuck with it throughout my entire first pregnancy.

Once my son arrived, that was the end of fitness for me for a very long time. Raising children, working, single-parenting, were all just too much for me. I put away my sneakers, my swimsuit and my spandex. I had plans to return as soon as my life settled down and got back to normal. It didn’t. My fitness slipped away, my weight increased and I stopped looking at myself too closely in the mirror. I tried a few diet strategies, but it was movement that I missed the most.

Almost 20 years later, I was at a New Years Eve party with a group of much younger, and fitter, friends. Somebody suggested that we make a joint New Year’s resolution and sign up for a sprint triathlon. A few were wise enough to say no immediately. More of them packed it in during the early weeks of the new year, realizing the level of commitment required to train. As for me, I now had a goal and a purpose and I was all in!

I started training immediately. I would pack in 1, 2 and occasionally 3 training blocks a day around work and family. I had a mountain bike and felt most confident there. I was a weak swimmer, so I signed up for lessons at our local pool. I had never run…ever. This assumes the 12 minute run in school PE didn’t count.. though I suspect it turned off many a potential runner. While being fitted for shoes at The Running Room, I saw a poster for a Learn to Run clinic and signed up. I wasn’t sure exactly what I needed to learn. I had perceived running as a natural effort, but I knew that I would need structure and encouragement. Taking that clinic was one of the best decisions I made in my life and I ran my first 5k race (slowly) just a few months later.

Shortly after my 50th birthday I found myself in Harrison, dressed in a weird bathing suit / shorts combo. My race number was scrawled on my arm, my bike was racked and ready, and I was wading into the lake to wait for the starting horn. What an adventure! I crossed the finish line in second place in my age class; more specifically, 2nd of three. I was damn proud.

I have never participated in another triathlon, though running stayed with me. Running partners have come and gone over the years, but I count some of the women from that Learn to Run clinic among my closest friends. We logged thousands of kilometres on our feet while sharing training tips and the stories of our lives.

Along the way, I began to extend my distances: 5 km, 8km, 10km, and then 15km as I prepared to run my first half marathon. After an aborted BMO Half (sprained ankle,) my first half ended up being in Las Vegas. Running down the brightly strip was amazing! (Many other aspects of that particular race were pretty suspect and have been dissected a hundred times by those of us that ran it.) It was lightly snowing when we crossed the finish line late that night. The long walk in search of a washroom aside, I was jubilant.

I became a regular at a few races: the BMO Half, the Fall Classic 10km, and the New Years Resolution Run were favourites. I sprinkled in a few silly races like the PNE Donut 5km or the Colour Run. A group of us came together to run the challenging Edge to Edge Marathon relay in Ucluelet. The number of medals on my wall plaque gradually increased, and I was happy.

Somewhere in there, my most frequent running partner and defacto coach, Debi, inspired me to sign up for the Ride to Conquer Cancer. Not so much a race, it was a two day, 250km cycle from Vancouver to Seattle to raise money for cancer. This led to the acquisition of a beautiful pink and black hybrid bike that fit me perfectly, and many weekends of 100+km training rides. It rained for most of the first day and there were periods of endless uphill, but we made it.

And then, after many years of happy running, I broke my ankle. The “you need surgery and may never run again” kind of break. It took a year of rehab to be get back to running. Months later I fell and tore a tendon and had to start all over again. I persisted. It was my full focus.

During those trying two years some of my friends had become injured, moved away, or aged out of running, and our group began to shrink. In the end it was me and a single running partner, Raquel. We were good together. We ran a number of races, short and long, including several half marathons during the COVID period, when it was all virtual. It is a special kind of challenge to run a completely unsupported half. I also finally got comfortable running alone in the river valley during my brief 2 years in Edmonton.

Then came a back injury from not one, but two car accidents in quick succession. The first was hard to recover from, though I did manage to run again. The second took me out of running for good. I can run a bit… and though it remains truly joyful in the moment, I pay for it the next day. I miss it – more than I can say.

So there I was, bad back, dicey ankle and no idea what to do to be fit and keep moving. I liked some aspects of yoga – but in most scenarios it was not the workout I craved though it did help maintain my mobility. and I try to keep it up thanks to Yoga with Adrienne on YouTube.

And then along came Chad. I will be eternally grateful to Andrew for pushing me to connect with a trainer and explore power lifting. I spent the first 3 months doing endless breathing exercises to strengthen my core and a variety of low weight exercises to increase my mobility. Then one day, about 6 months in, I stepped up to the squat rack for the first time and found my happy place. Single leg squats? Sure. Deadlifts? Let me at ’em.

There are good days and bad. Sometimes it is so smooth, everything clicks. and the experience is glorious. Other days are what Chad describes as a “Struggle Bus” when nothing seems to go right. Overall, my forward progress is there. I am getting (a little) better about not beating myself up on the tough days, and am way more accepting of a session that does not require me to perform at 100+%. That was a hard lesson to learn. My favourite days are the ones where I bump into Andrew and we are working out at side-by-side racks (weights vary significantly). An occasional PR (personal record) is a nice bonus.

I have achieved my early goals: one pull up has become a half dozen; the same with push ups to the floor. My back pain is more manageable and, thanks to my much stronger core, there are delightful days where I forget I even have back issues. Next on my agenda – barbell shoulder press. After that… well I guess we will see. ;0)

Combined with a much healthier diet (hello protein – goodbye bourbon), and a ton of effort educating myself on the many ways to achieve a healthier lifestyle, I have lost 50+ lbs over 2+ years. It has not always been easy but it has been worthwhile. Now there is no going back.

I don’t know exactly where I will be in the coming years. But it’s a good bet that at least a couple of days a week, you will find me at the gym.