All throughout high school I hated sports. I wasn't good at them, so I figured that I was just naturally "unsporty" and should subsequently focus all my energies into my academic work and ignore sport forever.
The funny thing is, that alongside this animosity, I was an aspiring figure skater. I skated at least twice a week for ten years, had a private coach, and competed in competitions. Yet, I just wasn't good enough - so I quit.
Then there was field hockey. Around grade 9, I became convinced that if I didn't play a sport I would never be admitted into university. So I joined the city field hockey team for my age group, and the next year my school team. I stayed for three years, but also wasn't very good at that - so I quit.
This seems to be a recurring theme in my life - quitting at things I am just not good at. Well, that's until I discovered running.
I ran in high school to "stay in shape" and attempted the same routine in university. However, it wasn't until the summer after my third year when, after experiencing the never ending woes of a recent heartbreak I decided that I needed to get my strength back. Yes, I was thinking about inner strength, but I knew that sitting around and trying to overcome all the anger and sadness just wasn't going to do it, so I slipped on my running shoes and headed out the door.
After twenty minutes I was beat and had to walk home. The next time I put on my shoes I was hesitant, but then those feelings of sadness came bubbling up and I started moving.
Each day, in a new attempt to uncover my own secret powers I ran a little faster and a little further until by the end of the summer I was running for at least forty minutes without stopping. Today, I have managed to keep that rhythm up, without stopping and am now proudly training for my first half marathon. So there! How's that for getting over a broken heart! I literally ran away from it, but today I keep running to stay strong, to stay focused and to stay committed to overcoming the next obstacle that life throws at me.
So why I am writing about this now? Well because of the olympics of course. Last night I made a nostalgic return to my sport past by watching Virtue and Moir ice-dance their way into Olympic history. Their performance was breath-taking - I cried - but more importantly it served as an important reminder of the greater role that sport plays in society.
Sport inspires. It truly does, and I think this is the first time I have truly realized that while watching the Olympics. Learning about the grueling process that an athlete puts herself through to become an olympian is awe inspiring in a way that only someone who has completed the process would know, but I think there is something that us masses can take away from the process as well.
We can over come immense obstacles and sport is just one way of coping with the challenges that life brings. Sport itself is a challenge, but when placed in the context of one's own life, it also becomes a way to defeat the challenge.
Perhaps my new found appreciation for the power of sport comes from my own realization that finally, for the first time in my life I can honestly say that I am good at a sport. I am a good runner, and how do I know that?
Because every time I lace up my running shoes and get ready to head out into the fresh air, I get butterflies of excitement in my stomach knowing that today I am going to go far and run my best. I guess this is how every Olympian feels when they step out onto the snow or ice - they know they through all the pain and struggle they have made it to this day, and today all they can do is there best. That is what truly inspires.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
Finding National Pride When You Least Expect It
For many Canadians, this is the time to be Canadian.
The Olympics have finally arrived in Vancouver, and while a native of the city, I am not there. Instead, like millions of others, I will be one of those glued to a TV screen, with friends or in bars where patrons proudly raise their glasses to cheer our Canadians on in some of the sports that define us nationally.
While this is the time to naturally want to express a sense of national pride and solidarity, national pride was not something I sought after this past weekend when the games first opened their doors. Instead I was seeking refuge from the routine of urban life and fled as far away from the barren, brown winter prairie to the sublime reaches of the great Canadian Rocky Mountains. In turning my wheels west, I was not thinking about Vancouver, but I was simply thinking about getting away from the hustle and bustle of life. Getting out into nature and simply being able to hear myself breath.
However, rather than getting away from all the Olympic hype, I was bombarded by it. Honestly, what was I thinking while heading to Banff - the previous Canadian home of the winter Olympics. Almost every person, from another country or not, on the busy Banff main street were decked out in some variations of Olympic fashion.
Then there were the bars - flooded with proud Canadians cheering on their (very local) homegrown heros. There was no escaping it - I am Canadian, and it was time to cheer my fellow athletes on.
It's not that I didn't want to get into the Olympic spirit. I was simply seeking a quiet weekend away from any thought of anything. Yet strangely, I found myself engulfed not only by Olympic spirit, but pure Canadian pride. A sense of national solidarity that I usually only get a taste of during a Federal election, or a moment of national tragedy.
This sense of pride, this strong sense of nationality really had nothing to do with the Olympics. It had everything to do with the overwhelming sense of awe that one experiences when faced with the majesty of the rocky mountains, with the enormity of their hovering grace. I usually feel something in the face of their enormous rock faces, but this time that something was different.
This time, that something was the feeling that not only was I in a very special place in the world - but that this place was in Canada. Actually, this place is Canada. The sense of nationality surrounding nature was surmounted when I imagined where all the people who surrounded me were from. Walking the edge of one of the Rockie's most famous tourist destinations, we were passed by families from several different cultural backgrounds - British, Indian, German - the list could go on I'm sure. They were all likely here for the fantastic skiing promised by the Louise's famous mountain, but at the same time they were here to ski in the Rockies. To ski these majestic slopes, and to soak up the feeling of awe that so many who came before them have experienced.
I'm not going as far to say that the Rockies are something every person in the world wants to see. The level of their attraction is no where near to that of the Pyramids or even the Eiffel Tower, yet at the same time one of the reasons that makes these mountains such a popular destination is that they are not made man. Instead, they represent nature, in her most raw, ruthless and naked form. In the wake of natural disasters such as Haiti, they humble us before the eternal power of nature - a power that man only seeks to, yet is unable to completely dominate.
As the 2010 Vancouver Olympics pick up momentum, I am ready to put on my official Canadian hat, scarf and gloves and join the rest of the country in cheering for our athletes. This sense of pride will continue to grow as the excitement for the games does, but it will inevitably fade into nostalgia as the years go by.
Unlike the sense of pride evoked by the spirit of the Olympic games, the pride I feel in being a citizen of a country where national parks are erected to protect some of nature's most sacred monuments will not fade. Like nature herself, the pride and awe I feel in the face of the Rockies is eternal, so today and everyday from hear on after I can truly say that I am proud to be Canadian.
The Olympics have finally arrived in Vancouver, and while a native of the city, I am not there. Instead, like millions of others, I will be one of those glued to a TV screen, with friends or in bars where patrons proudly raise their glasses to cheer our Canadians on in some of the sports that define us nationally.
While this is the time to naturally want to express a sense of national pride and solidarity, national pride was not something I sought after this past weekend when the games first opened their doors. Instead I was seeking refuge from the routine of urban life and fled as far away from the barren, brown winter prairie to the sublime reaches of the great Canadian Rocky Mountains. In turning my wheels west, I was not thinking about Vancouver, but I was simply thinking about getting away from the hustle and bustle of life. Getting out into nature and simply being able to hear myself breath.
However, rather than getting away from all the Olympic hype, I was bombarded by it. Honestly, what was I thinking while heading to Banff - the previous Canadian home of the winter Olympics. Almost every person, from another country or not, on the busy Banff main street were decked out in some variations of Olympic fashion.
Then there were the bars - flooded with proud Canadians cheering on their (very local) homegrown heros. There was no escaping it - I am Canadian, and it was time to cheer my fellow athletes on.
It's not that I didn't want to get into the Olympic spirit. I was simply seeking a quiet weekend away from any thought of anything. Yet strangely, I found myself engulfed not only by Olympic spirit, but pure Canadian pride. A sense of national solidarity that I usually only get a taste of during a Federal election, or a moment of national tragedy.
This sense of pride, this strong sense of nationality really had nothing to do with the Olympics. It had everything to do with the overwhelming sense of awe that one experiences when faced with the majesty of the rocky mountains, with the enormity of their hovering grace. I usually feel something in the face of their enormous rock faces, but this time that something was different.
This time, that something was the feeling that not only was I in a very special place in the world - but that this place was in Canada. Actually, this place is Canada. The sense of nationality surrounding nature was surmounted when I imagined where all the people who surrounded me were from. Walking the edge of one of the Rockie's most famous tourist destinations, we were passed by families from several different cultural backgrounds - British, Indian, German - the list could go on I'm sure. They were all likely here for the fantastic skiing promised by the Louise's famous mountain, but at the same time they were here to ski in the Rockies. To ski these majestic slopes, and to soak up the feeling of awe that so many who came before them have experienced.
I'm not going as far to say that the Rockies are something every person in the world wants to see. The level of their attraction is no where near to that of the Pyramids or even the Eiffel Tower, yet at the same time one of the reasons that makes these mountains such a popular destination is that they are not made man. Instead, they represent nature, in her most raw, ruthless and naked form. In the wake of natural disasters such as Haiti, they humble us before the eternal power of nature - a power that man only seeks to, yet is unable to completely dominate.
As the 2010 Vancouver Olympics pick up momentum, I am ready to put on my official Canadian hat, scarf and gloves and join the rest of the country in cheering for our athletes. This sense of pride will continue to grow as the excitement for the games does, but it will inevitably fade into nostalgia as the years go by.
Unlike the sense of pride evoked by the spirit of the Olympic games, the pride I feel in being a citizen of a country where national parks are erected to protect some of nature's most sacred monuments will not fade. Like nature herself, the pride and awe I feel in the face of the Rockies is eternal, so today and everyday from hear on after I can truly say that I am proud to be Canadian.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Is Hell other people?
After much anticipation, I finally saw Electric Company Theatre's production of Sartre's No Exit, which ran in correlation with this year's High Performance Rodeo in Calgary. I read the play last week to get a preliminary grasp of the story, but needless to say, the live production completely outdid my own internal construction of Sartre's existential classic.
The play's running time - 1 hour and 30 minutes - went by in a flash. Completely full of energy, excitement, anticipation and endless anxiety, Sartre's words were easy to grasp but hard to digest. The fast pace of the play added to the general atmosphere of anxiety and clastrophobia that is intended to mimick the sensation of being stuck in hell - but whether that hell is in life or death is up to your own personal discretion.
"Hell is other people" - No Exit's defining words, muttered hopelessly by the character Garcin towards the play's closing moments has more of an after effect than a climatic experience. Leaving the theatre, I was left with swirling thoughts that scattered themselves like an undone puzzle throughout my mind waiting to be put together.
I have yet to complete the puzzle, but there are certain pieces that have begun to take shape - at least in my own sort of interpretation. The phrase's translation is easy in some senses: rather than the traditional forms of physical torture so commonly associated with hell, Sartre gives a clever insight into the idea that in death, human beings will torture each other. However, at least point I am left wondering does Sartre see this hell only in the afterlife or is he trying to make a greater point about humanity on earth?
From distant memory, I recall two important facets of Sartre's philosophy. First, that we are ultimately free as human beings to do what we like with this like, however, that ultimate freedom comes at the price of ultimate responsibility.
Second, we are constantly struggling to exist in bad faith: in a state of being caught between two desires - the desire to exist for ourselves and the desire to exist for others. One state distracts us from the reality of other people, the other from the sense of collective responsibility we have for each other.
Relating No Exit back to the fundamentals of Sartre's philosophy, I can see a stark connection. The reality of existentialism is that we are not autonomous beings, but rather we exist in relationship with each other - we share the collective responsibility that comes with free will, and we also share a responsibility to live a life of meaning for ourselves. In life, we are often tortured by the sense of division that our responsibilities create in ourselves. Do we act alone, or with another?
In this sense then, I could see No Exit as being a cynical commentary on our relationships to each other - we are always trapped in hell - in life or death - a hell where we are constantly accountable to one another, a hell where each person has the right to inflict the mandate of responsibility on another.
However, from a slightly more optimistic perspective, I could also see Sartre's No Exit as a clever way of telling us the reality of existence - we are trapped here in life with each other - whether we like it or not - and so we must just learn how to get along with one another. Learn how not to be tortured by another's ills, learn how to co-exist as peacefully as possible.
Or - if you are the sadistically inclined type - then learn how to find pleasure in life by creating ills for your fellow man.
Whichever attitude you choose to adopt, there is a universal reality to be uncovered through the fast-paced text of No Exit - we are not alone and we depend on other people to have our own existence validated. We need each other, but at the same time we have a great capacity to hurt one another.
Wrestling an avenue of contentment between these two extremes is perhaps one of life's greatest challenges. Learning how to get along with those you disagree with, and learning how to love and be love. These are struggles that will never change as long as we live.
So really there is No Exit in life or death. It's just a matter of finding out how to live in the room that you're stuck in.
The play's running time - 1 hour and 30 minutes - went by in a flash. Completely full of energy, excitement, anticipation and endless anxiety, Sartre's words were easy to grasp but hard to digest. The fast pace of the play added to the general atmosphere of anxiety and clastrophobia that is intended to mimick the sensation of being stuck in hell - but whether that hell is in life or death is up to your own personal discretion.
"Hell is other people" - No Exit's defining words, muttered hopelessly by the character Garcin towards the play's closing moments has more of an after effect than a climatic experience. Leaving the theatre, I was left with swirling thoughts that scattered themselves like an undone puzzle throughout my mind waiting to be put together.
I have yet to complete the puzzle, but there are certain pieces that have begun to take shape - at least in my own sort of interpretation. The phrase's translation is easy in some senses: rather than the traditional forms of physical torture so commonly associated with hell, Sartre gives a clever insight into the idea that in death, human beings will torture each other. However, at least point I am left wondering does Sartre see this hell only in the afterlife or is he trying to make a greater point about humanity on earth?
From distant memory, I recall two important facets of Sartre's philosophy. First, that we are ultimately free as human beings to do what we like with this like, however, that ultimate freedom comes at the price of ultimate responsibility.
Second, we are constantly struggling to exist in bad faith: in a state of being caught between two desires - the desire to exist for ourselves and the desire to exist for others. One state distracts us from the reality of other people, the other from the sense of collective responsibility we have for each other.
Relating No Exit back to the fundamentals of Sartre's philosophy, I can see a stark connection. The reality of existentialism is that we are not autonomous beings, but rather we exist in relationship with each other - we share the collective responsibility that comes with free will, and we also share a responsibility to live a life of meaning for ourselves. In life, we are often tortured by the sense of division that our responsibilities create in ourselves. Do we act alone, or with another?
In this sense then, I could see No Exit as being a cynical commentary on our relationships to each other - we are always trapped in hell - in life or death - a hell where we are constantly accountable to one another, a hell where each person has the right to inflict the mandate of responsibility on another.
However, from a slightly more optimistic perspective, I could also see Sartre's No Exit as a clever way of telling us the reality of existence - we are trapped here in life with each other - whether we like it or not - and so we must just learn how to get along with one another. Learn how not to be tortured by another's ills, learn how to co-exist as peacefully as possible.
Or - if you are the sadistically inclined type - then learn how to find pleasure in life by creating ills for your fellow man.
Whichever attitude you choose to adopt, there is a universal reality to be uncovered through the fast-paced text of No Exit - we are not alone and we depend on other people to have our own existence validated. We need each other, but at the same time we have a great capacity to hurt one another.
Wrestling an avenue of contentment between these two extremes is perhaps one of life's greatest challenges. Learning how to get along with those you disagree with, and learning how to love and be love. These are struggles that will never change as long as we live.
So really there is No Exit in life or death. It's just a matter of finding out how to live in the room that you're stuck in.
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