Athlete or Climber: Do We Downgrade Ourselves?
Photograph courtesy of Irene Yee
“Do you consider yourself an athlete?” Aisha Weinhold asked, sitting on the kitchen floor in Aspen, Colorado one evening this past summer. We were discussing ski mountaineer racing. She is the third fastest woman in the United States after competing in the US Skimo Nationals in Santa Fe, New Mexico and won “Fastest Couple in the US” during the 2017 US National Championship of ski racing with her husband. She’s lightning. I didn’t even know what skimo was until last year.
Sarah Coburn, sitting nearby at the table said, “Absolutely.”
We spent several weeks in Aspen preparing for the big festival weekend, and most early mornings Sarah was already awake. By 7:00 a.m., she had walked her dog, made breakfast, and had completed an entire hangboard session with coffee or smoothie in hand. In my mind, Sarah is the definition of an athlete. She stands almost six feet tall and is long-legged, muscular—but not bulky, and has little to no body fat (which seems physically impossible because I’ve seen her eat). Sarah puts her body to work with clear results in mind; this summer, she even sent her 12a project.
Meanwhile, my time in Aspen was spent primarily drinking La Croix and eating too much mac and cheese. Like—a lot of mac and cheese. Despite this fact, both girls seemed surprised when I quickly answered, “No, not really.”
Growing up, I never considered myself an athlete, even though I spent a significant amount of my childhood competing in gymnastics and swimming. Since I started climbing in my mid-twenties, the term “athlete” never even crossed my mind. I looked around at other climbers–the comp climbers, the professional climbers with reputable sends on their resumes—they were the real athletes. I was just having fun. Right?
In truth, I lack discipline to follow a regular training routine. I’ll bang out a few pull-ups on a hangboard when I see one, but I don’t actively try or seek them out. Sit-ups consistently feel hard, protein shakes are the devil, and on occasion—I eat cookies for breakfast. Lazy excuses aside, maybe by not considering myself an athlete, I was downplaying my abilities and strengths. And if I was willing to downplay my abilities, was I also downgrading my achievements? I’m not necessarily trying to prove my worth, but was being too modest limiting my success?
Athletes were just stronger, more skilled, and more dedicated, I told myself. Even the definition of an athlete feels exclusive—unattainable. “A person who is trained or skilled in exercises, sports, or games requiring physical strength, agility, or stamina.” states Merriam-Webster. And then, athletic educators disagree; they believe that being an athlete is not reserved for the strongest competitors. Whether you climb professionally for a paycheck or for fun, you are an athlete. By not accepting that, it was almost like I was devaluing the work that I had put into my climbing and goals over the years. If by embracing the identity of an athlete, I could shift the way I saw myself and how I performed, then what was there to lose?
There is a woman in my neighborhood who goes running every morning and has her shoes laced and hitting the pavement by first light. Maybe she enters a half marathon every year, but she doesn’t race competitively and isn’t sponsored by Nike. But her love of the physical movement makes her an athlete as much as any other Olympic runner. She knows that you have to carve out a path to success by acknowledging your daily commitment. She doesn’t downgrade her strength or abilities and redefines “athlete” on her own terms. And honestly, if you are courageous enough to show up, try something, and finish it, aren’t you an athlete, too?
Cover photograph courtesy of Emily Trombly