“I am an athlete!”
That was my response to a question posed by an old friend who I hadn’t seen or spoken to in years. When the words tumbled out I surprised myself and realized that in that one declaration I had finally embraced my new identity.
Now, you might think that I would have found it easy to define myself as an athlete months or even a year prior to that. By the time that question was posed to me on a sunny, summer evening I had completed dozens of 5k’s, several half marathons and 3 triathlons. At any point, after crossing the finish-line it would have been logical to shout out and embrace my new identity.
But it doesn’t work like that. While I had always incorporated exercise in my life I had never been discipline in my workouts to meet a goal; nor had I entered any competitions. My first foray into a race situation was in my forties and my first experience entering a race prepared and feeling competitive was when I was in my 50’s. But even then, I felt like a poser.
For me it was hard to stand at the starting line and not feel like an impostor. Everyone around looked super athletic, checking their race watches, stretching and appeared super relaxed. I felt like a deer in the headlights. Even after the gun went off I wondered what the hell I thought I was doing in this foreign situation. So, it is no wonder I couldn’t embrace the “I’m an athlete” identity. Even after multiple race finishes I still felt like a visitor in a foreign land.
Until that summer night. My friend didn’t just ask me who I was he gave me a list to choose from; career professional, mom, bohemian (?bohemian…anyone looking at me knows THAT doesn’t fit!), wife, artist…then, athlete. I actually paused. I reviewed the list. Many of those titles had or could logically define me and, in truth many of them could still but at that moment I knew. I just knew. All my work towards my goals; my new mid-life was athlete. I wasn’t a poser any longer. I was an athlete!