A gym rat grows up

My senior basketball picture

I was a gym rat.

1. gym rat - someone who spends all leisure time playing sports or working out in a gymnasium or health spa. addict, freak, junkie, junky, nut - someone who is so ardently devoted to something that it resembles an addiction; "a golf addict"; "a car nut"; "a bodybuilding freak"; "a news junkie"

I was a gym rat.

I spent the first twenty-five years of my life in a gymnasium. While I, of course, could not do an accurate estimate, I have decided, for estimation's sake, to assume I was in a gym at least 250 days of every year.

(I honestly think this number is low, but I don't want to go to hog wild.)

This means that out of 9,125 days of the first quarter century of my life, I was in a gym for 6,250 of those days.

And then it was over.

The gym of my childhood: Fort Lauderdale Christian

After being the daughter of a coach and an athletic director, a die-hard volleyball and basketball player throughout all of my middle- and high-school years, playing college basketball, and then coaching for five years, I walked away.

And have never been back.

From the time I was 25 until today (I'm 41! Egads!), I have rarely stepped foot in a gymnasium. I stepped away from coaching and teaching when I was in the midst of infertility treatments to pursue a less stressful job that would work better with the myriad of doctor's appointments I was required to attend.

Then I had kids. Four of them. In five years. (That'll do a little something to your free time. Take it from me.) My husband joined the Air Force. Life took over. And the gym was a thing of the past.

Yesterday, my family had lunch on a college campus. One of the kids needed to go to the bathroom, and the bathroom was shared with the lobby of the gym.

The moment I swung open that door, I was transported.

I cannot explain this to you unless you have experienced it, but I am sure most of us have "that thing" that is so firmly a part of our very DNA that we can't even put it into words. A place or a feeling or a moment that sits so deeply inside of you. Sometimes, you don't even know it is there until it comes welling up at the most unassuming moment.

Me jump serving in a volleyball game warm-up

Hanging out in the bleachers with two dear friends: Kelly and Megan

There is something about a gym that moves me.

I realized, as I stood there a bit dumbfounded as to how hard the environment had affected me, that I had been transported. In a flash, memories came flying back at me. One after another I remembered. I felt. I thought. I smelled.

There is something about hearing tennis shoes on the court that feels so familiar to me. The lighting is very distinct. It's a bright light and a yellow light and it glares off of things at spots only an athlete can recognize. The people walking in and out of gyms are dressed a certain way. They move a certain way. They talk a certain way. The sub-culture is real and intense. And the smells ... while sweat factors in, the smell isn't one of sweat that I most remember. It's more one of rubber balls and tennis shoes and concessions that conjures something up within me.

My junior year final four basketball team

As I stood there, a bit awe-struck as to how a mere gymnasium lobby could affect me, I watched six-foot volleyball players walk by. How did I know they were volleyball players? Oh you just know. A volleyball player looks and acts and dresses very different than a basketball player. I can spot a coach a mile away, and I can tell you which sport they coach in a mere second.

The thing was, I had this intense desire to be back in that gym playing and coaching again mingled with the incredible distinction that the life I am living now is actually the life God wants me to be living. During the first twenty-five years of my life, I never stepped on a farm outside of an occasional visit to a great Aunt's home in rural Illinois. I couldn't have told you the difference between a sheep and a goat, and I certainly didn't know anything about moving a paddock or collecting an egg.

And yet, here I am, so far removed from the sights and sounds and feelings of the life I devoted so much time to.

I have zero regrets about how I chose to spend my childhood. (My parents never required athletics from me. I did it because I loved it ... it was in me ... I wanted it with every fiber of my being and couldn't imagine doing anything else.)

But I also have zero regrets about who I am today and where I am now. I would never want to miss a ballet or piano recital. Nor would I return to the real classroom over the one that I have in my own home.

The memories are so real.

And despite the fact that I would never want to be anywhere other than my farm, I must admit that there are times, when I am overwhelmed or feeling stressed, that I have purposely pulled a basketball game up on the computer just to listen to it. There is something so familiar and comforting in the life I lived.

And then I turn it off ... and go and feed the chickens.