Where it all began
From the ages of 15-22, I was what I would consider an elite athlete. I rowed (crew for you Americans) at the varsity and provincial level and so much of my life revolved around that sport for quite some time.
I LOVED the analytics of it. When I first began, I didn’t even care about getting in the boat and racing, I simply loved training.
I still remember the day my soccer coach in high school (shout out to John Heder) told me he thought I’d be great at it and I should consider joining. He was also one of the rowing coaches. This was in the fall and at this point in the season, the team was running as their method of training and when winter started they’d be training indoors on the rowing machines. I wasn’t ready to choose on to the team yet (they competed in the spring which felt far away) but the idea of training was super enticing for me. I loved getting better. When we hit the rowing machines I LOVED tracking my splits and racing against the scores of myself and others. I didn’t even need to get in a boat at that point. The numbers, the microscopic increases, the pushing my body beyond what I thought it could was enough for me.
I had found my thing.
As part of my training, I was also very calculated with my food and nutrition as I raced the lightweight category. Every season I cut weight. Calorie counting, restriction, sweat baths and water restriction was normal (although my goal was always to try and avoid any type of dehydration).
I loved the structure of the sport.
I loved being good.
I found my leadership there as the captain and student executive president in university.
I loved everything about it.
And then I graduated.
And it all stopped.
I ran an apparel company for a couple years after that sold custom gear to different clubs so I was close to it.
But my body was done.
And so were many other parts of me.
Never could I bring that sort of discipline to anything else in my life. I didn’t want to.
There are parts of those days I miss dearly. I miss the wall of pain where I would question whether I could do one more stroke and then I would. I miss the technicality of the precise timing required within myself and within a team. I miss the thrill of passing another boat or holding one off with 250m left in a race.
And that’s a feeling I will likely never get again.
Championships won, finals lots by a couple feet. The adrenaline was always flowing.
As much as I loved it, I could ever go back to that. Because through all of that pushing, there was also so much ignoring of self. My hunger and my desires. My need for rest. I couldn’t even hear the cues because I was calibrated to something completely different. The training plan. The race plan. There was always a plan.
It’s no wonder that in my adult life, I resist plans in many many ways. Plans live outside of me, they are not of me.
Meditation challenges, morning routines, all the things “they” say will change your life, have always felt like a “have to”.
This has been my journey as an adult woman. Turning it upside down. Going inward. Believing that there was a way of living that does not require abandoning one’s deeper truth. Learning to trust that without the plan, I could still create. And this is where I found embodied movement. The first time I truly moved, it was like a piece of me had awoken from a dark slumber. An entire compartment of my being was cracked open and I could feel a part of myself that I had always known existed but had felt like a far away idea. One that was much more present when I was younger, but had been hidden in the face of acceptance, being cool and liked by others.
When I move my body, everything feels possible. I feel alive. I feel connected to a being greater than anything on this human plane.
I feel that I belong.
This is a power much greater than anything I could have gained through achievement, and I didn’t even know it existed.
I don’t think most other women do either.
They were taught to work hard and to follow the rules. To fit in and do it right.
They were taught to create a safe life, one that is secure but also independent.
They were not taught how to roar, cry, sing or howl.
And that is the biggest mistake that’s ever been made.
Because the woman who cries is the woman who heals.
The woman who dances is the woman who inspires.
The woman who sings is the woman who loves.
The woman who howls is the woman who leads.
And it’s about time we make that happen.
Every piece of my past has been an absolute gift. I wouldn’t trade my well planned and executed sports journey for anything else. I discovered the power of the mind and the power of the body. It’s been a critical piece to truly understand what this incredible body is capable of. The relationships I created were powerful and the journey has brought me to where I am right here. The foundation as been set. The deepening has begun and now, through the deeper knowing within my heart and soul, I can experience the vividness of life while supporting other women to do the same.