Self-care Is For Lazy People (Or That's What They Wanted Us To Think)

Being in the culture of "never stop, never show weakness" is a slippery slope. While participating in competitive gymnastics I felt ashamed of asking to do simple things like taking a water break. During one practice when I was 15 years old we were running through our floor routines. I felt particularly lethargic that day. I got through the first 10 seconds of dance that opened my routine and started running for my first tumbling pass... and never tumbled. Something felt wrong - my run turned to a slow jog and finally a stop. My teammate sitting in front of the music system shot me a confused look - at some point she must have paused the music, I don't recall. I just remember our coach marching up to me and telling me to start over. The music began, I danced feebly, then balked at my first tumbling pass again. My other coach came over, asking what was going on. It was all a blur, though I vaguely remember being called lazy and told I need to try harder. It was the first time I ever drew a hard line - I was done with practice and going to call my mom. My teammates casted each other bewildered looks as if to say "what the heck just happened?" - and I mentally responded "hell if I know".

The next thing I remember is lying in a hospital bed while a doctor asked me questions and started a venous draw. I noticed her gaze linger upon me for a moment and then turned to the nurse a split second later and said something along the lines of "saline drip, stat". I don't remember the rest of the day, but I do remember lying in the hospital thinking "maybe this is a good enough reason to skip practice this afternoon" - I actually felt relieved to potentially be so sick that I could get a break. My mother threatened me with having to pay the medical bills out of my own savings if I ever landed in the hospital for dehydration again, likely to motivate me to stay hydrated (medical bills in the US are enough to make anyone's stomach turn, but especially so for a 15 year old!). Every morning I was sent to the gym with a 2-liter water bottle containing half Gatorade and half water, and would get at stern talking-to if it wasn't finished by the time I got home 12 hours later (this usually translated into drinking 300 milliliters throughout the day then 1700 milliliters just before getting picked up. Sorry mom.), having to weigh myself just before going to bed and right after waking up in the morning to see how much fluid I lost overnight through normal metabolism. I get teased now for lugging around giant water bottles, but due to that experience, I feel just as concerned realizing that I'm out of the house without a water bottle with me as most would when they realized they left their phone at home.

Writing this, I am hit with a wave of remorse and grief - it's as if I'm watching my 15-year-old self in that hospital bed who is so relieved to be there and hopeful that she could take the rest of the day off, and wanting to shout at her "it's okay! It's okay! Take today off, and tomorrow too! None of this matters enough to keep going through this! 15 years from now you won't care AT ALL if your teammates thought you were good or if your coaches thought you had what it takes.".

What I do care about is the fact that my story is far from being a rare occurrence in high-level sport. It clearly demonstrates the fact that winning and performance is often prioritized over athlete well-being by a long shot. In my mind, there were two major contributing factors that led to being hospitalized for dehydration. The first was that I was uneducated as to how much fluid I needed to drink on workout days. I would drink if I felt thirsty, but due to the high-stress environment I was chronically in fight-or-flight mode. Given that instincts like hunger and thirst are suppressed when the body perceives a dangerous situation, my thirst levels did not accurately indicate how much I should drink to be properly hydrated. The second, perhaps much more serious contributing factor, was that engaging in acts of self-care during practice in almost any form was met with public accusations of laziness, often leading to humiliation. When a child trains over 30 hours per week in their sport, a coach is one of the primary caregivers of the child. The power imbalance that arises when the coach is a gatekeeper for the young athlete’s success can often lead to compliance with unhealthy expectations from the coach.

The solution, perhaps, lies in 1) training the coaches, athletes, and their parents regarding the basic requirements for health and well-being, 2) recognizing the communication patterns that directly and indirectly undermine the athlete’s ability to engage in well-being practices and 3) learning positive coaching practices to actively encourage athletes to communicate about their needs and take care of their health.

It is my great hope that future generations of young athletes will emerge from sport not as survivors of maltreatment, but have thrive throughout their athletic journey and are equipped to face the world with resilience, self-efficacy, and realistic optimism.