Finally making peace with fitness

I remember being in fourth grade, we just moved from Boise to Portland. My sister Ava had just started volleyball, and I didn’t want to join her. I wasn’t interested in the sport—or any sport, really. But I remember my mom telling me that I had to do something extracurricular. At the time, it felt like she was being unfair, forcing me into something just for the sake of it.

Now, I can see she was setting me up for something bigger.

I chose softball. I had no idea what that decision would lead to. I started in a local rec league, but it didn’t take long before my parents signed me up for club tryouts. My first team was the Panthers. From there, it was a five-year cycle of making teams, climbing the ranks, and pushing myself to try out for higher levels.

When I reached high school, everything got more intense. Training extended far beyond the field. We had 5:30am gym workouts—again, courtesy of my mom (still bitter about the early wake-up calls, but deeply grateful for the discipline they taught me). That’s when I started focusing on strength and skill development in a more serious way.

But here’s the thing: I rarely trained just because I wanted to. It was always a requirement. Go to practice. Log your workouts. Take PE. Pass your fitness tests. Technically, I had free will—but I was never the type to break the rules. Complain? Sure. But rebel? Never.

Now, almost ten years after high school, fitness is something I genuinely struggle with. I think it’s because I don’t have to do it anymore. For the first time, no one’s holding me accountable—not a coach, not a parent, not a schedule. And I’ve been using that freedom to opt out entirely. Subconsciously, maybe it’s been my way of reclaiming control after 18 years of following structure.

I’m not chasing a college softball dream anymore (spoiler: that dream shifted before it ever became real). I have no performance goals, no upcoming tryouts. Just… me.

Last week, I finally gave in and signed up for a gym membership. Group classes, early mornings, the whole thing. I’ve been dreading it. I don’t want to be seen. I don’t want to sweat. I don’t want to spend the money or leave the comfort of my routine. But at the same time—I do want friends. I do want to feel energized. I do want to be financially and physically responsible.

Lately, I’ve realized I’ve been putting too much energy into defying structure instead of intentionally choosing where my energy should go. And that energy should start with me.

Softball isn’t a sad chapter in my past—it’s one I’m starting to look back on with nostalgia and real gratitude. The field, the discipline, the gym—it all shaped me. And my parents gave everything so my sister and I could chase those dreams. That’s not lost on me.

Sometimes I’ve told myself I’m “not athletic” anymore because I don’t play sports. But I’m learning that being an athlete isn’t something that disappears when you leave the game. It’s something that lives in you—discipline, resilience, muscle memory, mindset.

So here I am—still an athlete. Just showing up in a different arena now. And I’m finally ready to feed that part of myself again.