Last weekend my new sister-in-law joined me at the exercise class I’ve been going to most Sundays since the new year. She’s not from the UK so most of her people are in another country. And as she lives in another town, our time together has been limited. After the class, I realised I’d probably learned more about her during those 60 minutes, despite the fact we were exercising, than I had in the entire three-years previous. And when I thought about it some more, I could see an even clearer correlation between exercise and connection.
In the past, I’ve focused only on how exercise has the ability to change my body. This new realisation encouraged me to consider all the ways exercise has connected me to people on a deeper level. My brother-in-law’s first wife, who I ran with most evenings after work. An active therapy of sorts. His previous partner, who I bonded with over our shared love of fitness. Not his partner before that though. I hit it off with her in the traditional way – through alcohol. Her one attempt at exercise, beach yoga on a girls trip to Ibiza, ending abruptly with her spitting sand when she toppled sideways from a one legged posture. Still brings a smile to my face even thinking about it. See, exercise equals connection.
Quality time
The Sunday class is something I do with my sister. It’s a circuit. 32 stations. A minute per exercise. Cardio and weights. A beginners class, the majority of us are not muscle bound gym bunnies. We’re normal sized people, grunting and red faced, battling through every minute. For my sister and I, it’s a way to spend time together. A promise to keep each other accountable with regards to our health goals. Years ago, we would meet for an early morning run instead. The roads quiet, the birds singing, it felt like we were gifted an extra hour. One that only we knew about. One that set us up for the day. Now, with kids in the mix, we prioritise the time where we can.
It’s fair to say that most of us don’t have an excess of free time. Even when time does allow, it can feel extravagant to spend it on ourselves. Women, in particular, often feel the pressure to be productive. Selfless. Like we should sacrifice our time for the needs of others. It’s rare then, that we prioritise our own.
This weekend, I spent the day with one of my closest people at a yin-yoga workshop in Birmingham. It was a treat to take time out from our busy lives, with no interruption from work or kids, just to be together. A reminder, of the importance of spending quality time with a like-minded someone. Of how it feels to come away from a social situation, restored, instead of depleted.
During our goodbyes, we make plans to do this more often. Knowing, more often than not, that life will get in the way.
Connection in the struggle
I’m not as fit as I used to be but that’s OK. Actually, I’d go so far as to say that I think we find an even deeper connection in our shared struggles. I’ve been on the receiving end of more smiles when I’ve been face down on the ground, collapsed after moving burpees, then I have when I’ve been seemingly unaffected. There’s a camaraderie. A recognition. A, it’s hard, but we’re doing it anyway. Go us.
Years ago, my middle sister and I trained for, and ran, the Paris marathon. Almost 20-years later, I can still remember the horror we felt when we realised just how far 26.2 miles actually was. This before the availability of running apps and trackers, it was only post-race that we established our last 21-mile training run had actually only been 16. We were woefully unprepared. Bewildered as our predicted time came and went, we shook our fists at cheering spectators. How dare they be so … cheery? We glowered in protest at the Eiffel Tower. Was 26-miles longer in France?
But our relationship deepened through that shared difficulty. It was an experience that only we two have lived. We smile wistfully now when we reminisce about being overtaken by two older women who, walking and in animated conversation, were still moving faster than us. We dissolve into laughter at the mention of our shared tears. “Why can’t we see the end,” we cried, as we jogged (shuffled) past the 26-mile mark. It never gets old, telling of how she threw her trainers in the first bin we came across. Of how she walked back to the hotel in socked feet. And that she refused to run again for at least a year.
Developing relationships
When I was 15, I took my 2nd Dan, black belt in Karate. As I was the youngest person being graded, there wasn’t a suitable opponent for me to spar with, and I ended up ‘fighting’ a 6-feet tall, blond, handsome, 27-year old man. He took it easy on me. I was mortified. Thankfully, I didn’t have to face him again for a couple of years. This year, we will have been married for over two decades. Did Karate bless me with my husband? I like to think it played a small part.
I learned to throw a punch at the same time as I learned to walk. My dad was a martial arts instructor, and so Karate was like brushing my teeth. It was just something I did. More importantly, it was my connection to him. As a teenager, it was a constant battle between wanting to be the same as everyone else, and wanting to please him.
I didn’t realise it at the time, but he gave me the gift of exercise. When I finally quit Karate at 16, he dropped me off at a local boxing gym. A skinny, barely legal girl in a gym full of rough and ready boxers and bodybuilders, left to find my place. I was an anomaly. Most women went to Bums, Legs, & Tums and Step Aerobics. The gym was only for men. But it was also given to me.
It’s not a competition
My husband’s job is very physical and so he hasn’t exercised in a formal setting for years. This, and the fact that I am 12-years younger, often leads me to assume that I am the fitter spouse. He likes to prove me wrong.
When a group of us signed up for The Wolf Run, he did absolutely no training in preparation for the 6-mile race. Yet he had no bother hauling himself over obstacles, trudging through ankle high mud like it was no more than a walk in the park. I’m not going to lie, it was annoying. He could have at least pretended to be out of breath.
The time I challenged him to a 3-mile run was more satisfying. I’m a bit of a talker when I run. Not if I’m by myself, obviously – that would be weird. But if I have a partner, it helps me to process, and it distracts me from my pain. Running is hard.
Turns out my talking made him grumpy. “If you don’t stop talking to me, I’m going to turn around and go home.” He told me through shallow breaths. I laughed (on the inside) and chalked it up as a win for me.
I know, it’s not a competition. But there’s something so annoying about male arrogance, backed up with actual results. No fair.
Safe space
I’d lived in my current home for a few years and had never shared more than a smile with our neighbour across the road. Then, one Sunday, we both stepped out of our front doors at the exact same time, clearly going for a run. Serendipity.
“I’ll come with you.” I told her. 30-minutes later, she was privy to my entire life story. Well over a decade later, she still hasn’t shaken me off.
I shouldn’t be surprised that exercise has helped forge so many of my closest relationships. After all, it is intrinsically a part of me. It’s my safe space. A known quantity, when I have suffered a crisis of confidence in so many other areas of my life. Exercise has also offered solace in solitude when I have needed it most. It has never been difficult for me to train alone. I’ve processed many a problem by throwing on some trainers and pounding the pavements. Ideas flow more freely during a solo nature walk. After my morning yoga, I breathe more deeply. And a few rounds on the punch bag is preferable to using my loved ones as an emotional one.
I’ve always professed the virtues of exercise, though at times it may have been fuelled by my desire to meet the societal standards of how my body should look. But no matter what has been happening in my life, it has been a non-negotiable. Even at my lowest ebb, when it was little more than a walk and a bit of yoga. It’s only now though, when I consider its connection to my relationships, that I understand what a gift it has truly been.
