With This Body

Athleticism isn’t a look—it’s the grit to keep pedaling when the mountain says “no,” and the grace to love the body that gets you to the top.

Mount Gozaisho, Japan

I have never been an athlete. As a kid, my body betrayed me by passing out just over the finish line or in the outfield during a softball game. As a gifted and talented fifth grade student, theater camp was more my speed. Playing a dying Beth in Little Women was better than sports for me. My destiny was to be a theater kid who ran away with the circus.

With a BA in theater, and incredibly good fortune, I started working in wardrobe for Cirque du Soleil - surrounded by some of the best athletes on earth. Two years later, I transferred to the Asia Pacific tour, and found my noticeably bigger self in Tokyo. I was instantly self conscious - but being the biggest girl in the room felt familiar to me.

Starting in middle school, I was always two or more sizes more than the girls around me. Often mistaken for someone much older than me, this had its advantages. But fitting in was not one of them. Trying to keep up with friends who were smaller and more athletic was also a challenge.

On a high school hiking trip in Palo Duro Canyon, I got stuck coming out of a cave. We were laughing so hard, I could barely breathe, much less pull myself out of a hole too small for my “child bearing hips.” I envisioned a park ranger coming to rescue me…or worse, having to go alone back down into the dark cave to get out. Thankfully, I made my way out…my laughter turning to tears. In college, it was the same. From struggling in dance class to being left out of physical trips with friends, I started to really hate my body. And now, thousands of miles away from home surrounded by smaller people and hard bodied circus artists - here I was. A large, curvy red-headed American woman living abroad.

There was a bike culture on tour and I very quickly bought one to get around. After reading an article about biking in Asia, it made me wonder… I was walking 40 minutes to work, riding my bike and taking Aikido classes. I was in the best shape of my life. Nagoya, the city we were in, was about 120 miles from Osaka, the next city on our tour. We had five days on tour break. The thought of taking off on my own bike trip excited me.

Experienced cyclists said it would take two days for them, with an estimated five days for me, camping along the way. I gave into the adrenaline, and without much research or thought, I quickly put flyers around the artistic tent asking to borrow camping gear for this wild adventure.

People started talking and suddenly there was more traffic in the wardrobe trailer and at my table in the dining hall from well meaning artists giving advice and encouragement. Some artists said they wouldn’t dare to do this trip. Before those statements started to completely freak me out, a performer from the show asked if she could join me.

“Shaz - I am not an athlete - I am not going to be able to keep up with you.” “That’s alright,” she said with an Australian lilt, “I’m lazy - we can take our time.”

It seemed like we all took a collective sigh of relief. I found out later that some artists were making literal bets that I wouldn’t make it. And there were times on this trip, I didn’t think I would. But we were resolute and it was happening.

Shaz and I bought maps, none of them in English. We planned our route, estimated our stops and decided that if we got lost, we had a compass and would just keep going west. Japan is an island after all, we were going to hit Osaka eventually.

Fueled by our excitement, we had an easy first day riding out of Nagoya. Day two was the beast. Mount Gozaisho. Riding up the mountain was truly torture. Pedaling up the mountain was nearly impossible at my weight. I had to stand to pedal. And when I couldn’t stand, I had to stop and walk my bike up. And when I just couldn’t walk, I took breaks. It was hot. I was sweating, in pain and we were almost out of water.

I started to panic and then cry, thinking, “I have made a terrible mistake. I am not going to make it. I’m going to disappoint Shaz because we can’t complete this trip. I’m gonna pass out and she’s gonna have to get help.” Shaz saw me crying behind her and said, “We are almost to the top!”

I yelled, “You’ve said that twice already! We should hitchhike with one of these trucks that keeps passing us or turn back and take the train. I can’t do it!”

“We can’t turn back now. Take as many breaks as you need.” And with her hands on my shoulders, Shaz looked at me squarely and said, “We can do this.”

Pushing through the fear and anger, by dusk, we made it. We took a moment to take in the view and what we had just done. I was overwhelmed and tears came with the realization my 250lb body had done this truly athletic thing I could not imagine in my wildest dreams I could do. The daily walking, biking to the laundromat and challenges of Aikido had prepared me in ways I didn’t realize.

The author and Shaz after surviving the trip. AND. Each other.

The rest of the trip was our reward. Speeding downhill breathing in the fresh Japanese countryside, skinny-dipping in a reservoir, avoiding wild monkeys and communing with wild deer. We overcame being lost, crashing my bike, and trying to explain ourselves to very confused and concerned Japanese folks along the way. Five days later, sunburnt and rain-soaked, we reached Osaka.

Shaz put her arm around my shoulder, looked into my eyes and said, “Can you believe we did that with our bodies?”

I experienced it - so I know it happened. But I could hardly believe it. We survived the heat, the rain, burning through granola bars and protein drinks with the occasional hot meal. Looking back at a photo of us, Shaz looks like she just came home from a resort; I look like I just got home from Survivor.

Now, at 53, my body is different. It’s heavier, in perimenopause and with limited mobility because of my knees. But my body is still taking me on adventures. On a recent trip with friends, we ascended the climb from the beach and I thought about Mount Gozaisho. I thought about all the real and metaphorical mountains I’ve had to climb in my life. My journey has seemed harder and longer. And through many milestones, of course there has been pain. I guess I have always had an athlete inside of me - training and pushing myself beyond what I thought I could endure.

Being in this body is challenging, and it has taken me my whole life to appreciate and love her. But until the day I die, I will be proud to say, I did all of that - with this body.