Athletes with Amnesia

Athletes with Amnesia

"If you have a body, you're an athlete." — Bill Bowerman

"The body is just a vehicle transporting the soul." — Damian Marley

The first time I heard each of these statements, they felt less like ideas and more like reminders every human needed to hear.

Not because they were clever. Because they were true.

They turned into two of the most important ideas in my work.

Because somewhere along the way, most people stop seeing themselves as athletes, if they ever did to begin with.

And many stop seeing themselves as artists.

I think that's a mistake.

And an opportunity.

The Only Vehicle You'll Ever Own

Damian Marley said that the body is just a vehicle transporting the soul.

I love that metaphor because it reminds us that we are more than our bodies.

The body matters, but it isn't who we are.

It's the instrument we were given.

The vehicle through which we experience the world, connect with others, create, play, and express ourselves.

And unlike a car, boat, or house, we're only given one.

Sure, modern medicine can replace a knee. Maybe a hip. Sometimes an organ. Those advances are incredible.

But at the end of the day, you're still driving the same vehicle you've had since birth.

Some of us are driving relatively new models.

Others are driving classic vehicles with 40, 60, or 80 years on the odometer.

Those vehicles need a little more attention.

A little more maintenance.

A little more warming up before they hit the road.

But they're still capable of remarkable things.

The question becomes whether you've learned how to operate and maintain your vehicle.

Operating it well isn't about the equipment we were given. It's about software that drives it — the coordination, skill, and awareness running underneath the hardware.

The good news is that software can be upgraded. At any age.

Race Car Drivers and Commuters

On the road of life there are two types of drivers.

Race car drivers and commuters.

Race car drivers know their vehicles.

They know how to use a clutch and shift through gears.

They know how to maintain momentum through a corner.

How to manage traction.

How to shift the weight of the vehicle.

When to accelerate.

When to brake.

And how to stay in control at the limits of performance.

They have pit crews.

Mechanics.

Coaches.

They're constantly learning how to get more out of the machine.

Commuters are different.

Most people shift from Park to Drive.

More concerned with the media console or beverage in the cup holder than the instruments and controls.

They know where the gas pedal is.

Maybe they take a moment to adjust the mirrors.

But very few understand what the vehicle is truly capable of.

Sound familiar?

For many people, that's their relationship with their body.

An annual physical.

Some blood work.

A quick conversation with a doctor.

Fifteen minutes to determine whether the vehicle is safe enough to continue operating.

But athletes have always approached things differently.

They study the machine.

They learn the controls.

They understand the system.

And here's the important part:

I don't think athletes are special, or different, really.

I think they're simply tuned in.

Everybody Is an Athlete

Back in 2007, I was a brand-new trainer working floor shifts at Equinox in New York City.

I was making eight dollars an hour.

Studying anatomy.

Studying kinesiology.

Learning to become a coach.

During a break from classes, I walked into the Nike flagship store on Fifth Avenue.

At the time, it felt enormous.

I was a kid from Vermont. Back then, the entire state had only four escalators.

This place had elevators dedicated to sneakers.

I made my way to the top floor.

There, along the wall, in giant letters, was a quote from Bill Bowerman:

"If you have a body, you're an athlete."

I stopped.

And something clicked.

I had raced alpine skiing.

I was co-captain of my highschool track team.

I had played sports.

But I never thought of myself as an athlete.

Athletes were the state champions.

The travel team kids.

I considered myself athletic.

Not an athlete.

Yet there I was studying to become a strength coach.

Learning the science behind human performance.

And suddenly I realized:

Wait a second.

We all have the same equipment.

The same bones.

The same muscles.

The same nervous system.

The same fundamental movement patterns.

Maybe the difference isn't hardware.

Maybe it's software.

Athletes With Amnesia

One of the most common things I hear is:

"I'm not an athlete."

I no longer buy it.

I think most people are athletes with amnesia.

Take almost any child.

Say:

"Race you! Ready set go!"

And they're gone.

Running.

Jumping.

Climbing.

Playing.

Experimenting.

Competing.

Moving.

Nobody taught them to identify as athletes.

They simply are kids being kids.

Somewhere along the way — scarily early in many cases — we forget.

We stop playing.

We stop moving.

We stop exploring.

And eventually we start telling ourselves stories.

"I'm not athletic."

"I'm too old."

"I was never good at sports."

No, no, no.

You forgot.

You forgot who you were.

Before you had an identity.

Before you decided whether you were athletic.

Before you decided whether you were good at sports.

You were the toddler who fell thousands of times learning to roll, stand, walk, and run.

You never quit.

The athlete didn't disappear.

The athlete went dormant.

The Artist With Amnesia

I think the same thing happens with creativity.

Do you still believe in make-believe?

Most children do.

Then one day they stop.

What changed?

And when?

Because imagination is one of the most powerful abilities we possess.

If you can imagine something, you can create it.

And if you can create it in your mind, you can begin moving toward it in reality.

I learned this lesson in a deeply personal way.

Years ago, during a trip to Puerto Rico, I found myself overwhelmed by beauty.

The circumstances were unusual.

I was on spring break from college and in the early stages of what would later become a manic episode. It was one of the most disruptive periods of my life.

But there were many truths that emerged with unusual clarity.

This was one of them.

Surrounded by colors I had never seen, sounds I had never heard, and landscapes that felt almost impossible, I carried a camera everywhere, (pre- iPhone era,) and took hundreds of photos.

And in the middle of all of it, I remembered something.

I used to draw.

I used to paint.

I used to play guitar.

I had forgotten.

Just like people forget they're athletes, I had forgotten I was an artist.

The artist hadn't disappeared.

The artist had been waiting.

The same imagination that allows a child to believe in make-believe is what allows an adult to create a different future.

Before we become something, we have to be able to see it.

We have to imagine it first.

The Four-Minute Mile

Before Roger Bannister broke the four-minute mile, scientists had proven it to be humanly impossible.

Then he did it.

And shortly afterward, a whole bunch of others did too.

The limitation wasn't physical.

It was psychological.

Vision expanded.

Possibility expanded.

Reality followed.

"Limits begin where vision ends."

The moment we can see a different future, we start behaving differently.

This is true in sport.

It's true in health.

It's true in life.

Play to Win

Years ago, I had a tagline: Athlete Is an Attitude. Play to Win.

I've never stopped believing it.

It's easy to misunderstand.

It's not about beating someone else.

It's about momentum.

Play is our natural state.

Watch children.

Watch animals.

Watch people laughing.

We are designed to play.

Somewhere along the way, many adults stop.

I think we'd all be better off if we never gave up recess (or nap time, but that's another post.)

But winning matters too.

Because success creates momentum.

Momentum lasts longer than motivation.

The most powerful motivator isn't inspiration.

It's evidence.

A small win.

Then another.

Then another.

Winning means becoming slightly better than you were yesterday.

That's enough.

Before We Begin

Before we talk about fitness, strength, mobility, longevity, recovery, body fat, performance, pain, or aging, I want you to understand one thing:

You are not broken.

You are not too old.

You are not too far behind.

You are not starting from zero.

You ARE an athlete.

You always have been.

Identity comes first. Performance follows.

Maybe you're an athlete with amnesia.

Maybe you're a closet athlete.

Maybe you've simply forgotten.

That's okay.

It's a decision: to engage with the body you have, tune it like a vehicle, and trust that the software can still be upgraded.

The language can be relearned.

And the moment you decide to imagine yourself differently, everything else becomes possible.

Athlete is an attitude.

The rest is practice.