When I was at school I was terrible at PE. Think of the worst person at PE at your school, times that dreadfulness by about 100 and you have me. I flinched and ducked whenever the ball came anywhere near me. I was the slowest runner, the shortest and lowest jumper, the one who impaled the javelin into the ground about 50cm in front of her and sent the discus flying off in entirely the wrong direction. I was not only consistently the last person picked for team sports but I remember at least one occasion where the two team captains actually argued over who had to have me while the sadistic bastard of a teacher laughed and said ‘come on now, someone’s got to have her’. Scarred for life.
And at my school, probably at most schools in the 80s and early 90s, there was no question of trying to get kids like me into exercise. PE was for the naturally gifted, the kids who could do it without trying, the ones who could bring the school glory in tournaments and competitions. For the likes of me it was simply an ordeal to be endured and, in the end, I found it so unpleasant that I just stopped going and had a lie in on Tuesday mornings, arriving at school in time for second period maths, something no one even questioned. And from that early experience I wrote a story for myself. My story was that physical exercise was not for me, I was crap at it, I would never be able to do it, there was no point in trying.
And yet, in recent years, more and more, I have been exercising. It started as a way to keep my weight down without having to restrict my diet too much but very gradually two types of physical activity began to sneak up on me: running and yoga. I started dabbling with yoga about 15 years ago and running about 10 years ago, and I’ve kept coming back to them again and again over the years. But I still never gave myself permission to really go for it with either of them. Because that didn’t fit my story, the story I’d been telling myself about me and exercise for so many years. I refused to call myself a runner even when I ran a 10k race and got a fairly decent time. Even when I ran a half marathon (and got a pretty crap time but in my defence it was an extremely hot day). I flitted between yoga classes and teachers, with big breaks in between. Always starting from scratch, never progressing. Because I wouldn’t let it all the way in.
Last week I was at Bikram Yoga and the teacher kept going on about what a great group we were in class. At one point she used the phrase ‘a class full of pros’ and I suddenly thought ‘holy shit I CAN do this’. I realised in that moment that although physical activity is not the thing I am most gifted at, although I am not particularly strong, flexible, fast or coordinated, I can do exercise, I can even get good at whatever type of exercise I want to commit to, because I am determined and stubborn as fuck and that is the number one criteria for improving your practice of anything, mental or physical. In short, I realised that the story I’d been telling myself all these years was complete bollocks.
My five year old asked me the other day ‘what’s your favourite thing?’. And without hesitation I said ‘singing… or yoga’. I now have a new story about me and exercise, one where a particular type of physical activity is one of my very favourite things in the world. And as soon as I said it I felt a rush of gratitude as well that my honest answer to that question was something I could share with my five year old daughter without a single qualm. Because three years ago my answer would not have been anything so wholesome. It most likely would have been ‘wine’.
It’s not any more, because I rewrote that story too. One which was just as ingrained as the ‘I’m shit at exercise’ story. A story of a party girl, a wine mummy, a drinker and smoker who couldn’t quit, who would never quit. A fuck up and a flake. A story I stuck so faithfully to for so long. Even though I’d stopped enjoying it years ago I just couldn’t put it down, because it was mine. It was how I made sense of the world, of me. I thought that story was me. But it wasn’t, it was just a story I told myself, a story that wasn’t even true.
Now I’m writing a different story. A story where I am sober. A story where I live my whole entire life without experiencing an ounce of shame or self disgust. Ever. A story where my desk is clear at work and my to do list is manageable at home, my house is clean, my nails are manicured, my bank account is in credit, my car is serviced and me, my kids and my cats are all up to date with our medical appointments. A story where I eat good food, drink lots of water, get enough sleep and brush my teeth every single night before I go to bed, even using those pokey brushes in between. A story where I show up for my family and friends, where I can be relied on, where I behave consistently. A story where I run 10k on a Saturday afternoon just cause, go to yoga three times a week and have a swim first thing on a Sunday morning while my daughter has her lesson. A story where I manage my mental health, I meditate most days and know a calm and inner peace like I didn’t know was possible. A story where I have the most wonderful people in my life, who inspire me every day. A story where I laugh, love with my whole heart and have a stupid amount of fun doing all sorts of different things. A story where I tackle my shit head on, know my worth and follow my dreams.
Perhaps once upon a time I would have thought this story was boring. There’s not much drama in it after all, no crazy ups and downs or twists and turns. But now I think it’s the best story in the entire world and I am grateful every day that it’s mine. This story is mine for one reason and one reason only – I stopped drinking alcohol. That one decision that changed everything. Everything. Partly because alcohol is toxic shit and so the simple act of removing it from my life has enhanced my life in all sorts of ways. But also because doing the thing I thought I could never do taught me, once and for all, that I can rewrite my story. All of my story. We all can. We can do it again and again for as long as we live.
To quote a song from the musical Dear Evan Hansen (which I am beyond excited to see in the West End with two awesome sober friends this autumn):
All that it takes is a little reinvention
It’s easy to change if you give it your attention
All you’ve got to do is just believe you can be who you want to be
Sincerely, me (800 days sober)
