Are you Girly or Sporty Spice?

Say goodbye to impostor syndrome of being a beginner.
What if we didn’t have to choose, or identify with, just one thing? Between being feminine, outdoorsy, or nerdy?

Am I the only one whose Instagram feed is flooded with Strava screenshots, biohacks, and sporty lingo? That kind of content doesn’t align with me right now, with my lifestyle and my outlook on life. And that’s OK. I’m not an athlete, I don’t pretend to be one, but I like to move and be active. I am just as valid and legitimate in the world of sport.

Did you know that 50% of girls drop out of sports during adolescence? The joy of playing turns into comparison and performance pressure. I’m absolutely part of that statistic. My twin brother was a high-level athlete at the time, he was the “chosen one”, and we each assumed our roles. My brother was the sporty one. And I quickly understood that I wasn’t. That role settled in almost naturally. Through constant comparison, I ended up identifying with that place, until I, too, gave up sports.

Growing up, I tried every discipline and every sport imaginable, but never for very long, because I quit quickly. Because I wasn’t good, or maybe because I didn’t give myself permission to just be a beginner. Because I was afraid. In soccer, I was afraid of the ball. In horseback riding, I was afraid my horse would buck me off on a whim. In cheerleading, I was afraid of getting kicked in the face by my flyer. In gymnastics, I was afraid to throw myself backward, not seeing where I was going. I stopped skiing for nearly a decade because I was afraid of losing control and falling. But even more than that, I was afraid of being bad, and of others seeing me be bad. I couldn’t bear that shame and the pressure I put on myself.

I also tried every artistic discipline and every style of dance, tap, hip-hop, ballet, painting, photography, piano, scrapbooking, and more. I made choreographies. I read. I really liked school and learning. I took it seriously and I was good at it. And I wore only pink. My room was pink. My clothes were pink. My world, too. It made more sense with my appearance. In the end, I chose the more artistic and studious side. I embraced pink and everything it represented to me: sensitivity, creation, learning. Sport and its presence faded gently, without conflict, simply from a lack of interest.

Yoga is what finally reconnected me to movement, to my impressive inner strength, and to my visceral need to move in order to feel good. Without measuring. Just feeling it. Being present. I ski again today; I’m still not very good and I’m scared half the time. But I feel free. And I’m having fun.

A big impostor syndrome lived in me for a long time and still visits me in many areas of my life, especially in sport, amplified by social media. It’s as if we forget that we don’t need to be experts in a discipline to feel legitimate. That we don’t need to look a certain way to love the outdoors and sports.

I once had a boyfriend who told me how to dress so I wouldn’t look like a “Jerry,” and how to move and act to avoid, at all costs, looking like a Jerry. “Jerry” is a term used to describe someone clumsy or incompetent, especially in skiing.

But in reality, there isn’t one cooler way to dress than another. It’s normal to have the same outfit every outing, for many seasons. Not everyone who loves the outdoors is an athlete. Just because you’re not in the mountains every weekend doesn’t mean you’re not passionate. You can love the city, fashion, and makeup, and still love playing outside. Doing 1,000 meters of elevation gain is no small thing. Disconnecting from Strava to lose track of time, or not even having it, is possible and healthy.

I even spent a winter skiing Japan’s mountains with daily powder and climbed Kilimanjaro, with my pink accessories and borrowed or second-hand gear. For me, it wasn’t about performance, but a continual quest to push my personal limits. I wanted to discover new passions, the world around me, and its cultures. Now it’s my friends’ turn to see me as the pro, the knowledgeable one, the “cool” one.

I suggest ski days or hikes, little adventures and expeditions, to share my growing passions with them. And it’s as if I hear myself all those years ago: “But I’m not good,” “We’re not at the same level,” “I don’t want to carry the pressure of your expectations or feel like I’m slowing the group down.”

So I just want to tell them, and everyone who will listen: That’s not the point. I simply want to pass on this passion and the joy of contemplation rather than competition and pressure; the feeling of deep reconnection with nature, with oneself, and with others. That’s where true perfection lies: humanity and (real) humility. Doing the things we love, that call to us, because we love them, for pleasure. Daring. Pushing ourselves a little, gradually, or simply listening to ourselves. Without it having to look like anything. An aesthetic, a trend, a niche, or a result. Gently stepping outside our comfort zone, trying something new, or being a beginner leads to great self-confidence. Yes, it’s scary, but the pride and joy are even greater.

Why not do a sport just because we don’t have the cool gear or the cool clique? Why can’t we do things simply for pleasure? You belong wherever you want, and where we ALL have a right to be, beyond discomfort, embarrassment, or having no idea how to do it. When we want to, we can try.

And finally, the biggest realization is that, honestly, nobody probably cares, and that often it’s us who judge ourselves and impose these limitations, this rigidity, this categorization that messes with our heads. We can have many facets, identify with multiple worlds, and be full of contradictions. We can be girly, sporty, artistic, love the city, fashion, and the outdoors, and have all those aesthetics in our feed.

Go on, free your inner Jerry.