New Years Resolutions

Posted: January 17th, 2012 | Author: mwong | Filed under: blog, Inspiration, just for fun, Uncategorized | No Comments »

For many of us, each year our new years resolutions invariably circle back to something fitness related: healthier eating habits, more exercise, hitting the gym more frequently…Unfortunately, our resolve to live healthier usually wanes too soon. It’s hard to stick with these resolution, particularly when we’re constantly bombarded with temptations. As an avid foodie, new restaurants and good beers are my Achilles’s heel.

However, that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t continue to try to live a healthier life. People are always trying to throw out a few tidbits of advice about how to keep to your resolutions to lead a healthier lifestyle, but I think that, when it comes to any resolution for exercise/ getting into shape, my one bit of advice is to find an activity you truly LOVE. When we center resolutions around goals such as “losing X number of pounds” or “becoming a size 00″ we obsess over the scale. Seeing the scale tip forwards ushers in moments of panic, dejection, and maybe even forgoing our resolutions. And for those of use who do achieve our goal, what happens after? Celebrate and then…

When you find something you love, you don’t exercise for the sake of exercise or losing weight; you exercise for the love of the sport. You don’t exercise so you can be proud of how many pounds you’ve shed; you exercise so you can be proud of perfecting your craft. The benefits of finding a sport that you are passionate about extend beyond physical improvements. A sport to love brings simultaneous mental stimulation and emotional balance.

I am an avid tennis player and a rock climber. I picked up my first tennis racquet when I was five – a yellow and purple Wilson racquet. I’ve never been very athletic – I was a (nearly) straight A student in middle school. The one blemish came from  physical education:  I couldn’t run a mile (I’ve actually thrown up after attempting to do so).

When I was five, I saw my neighbor with a racquet and asked my mom whether I could take lessons. She agreed reasoning that despite my small frame, I might not be a complete failure. Neither my mom nor I expected that I would stick with this sport, nor did either of us anticipate how it might shape my life. I fell in love with the sport. I played competitively in high school, and despite nearly failing physical education class in middle school, I shone on the tennis court. More than just a physical athlete, my coach praised my resolve to never give up, chasing down every shot. In college, I found a way, through club tennis, to play competitively without the pressures from a varsity sport. Even now, I continue to play. My competitive spirit comes out when I “train” – I’ve recently started doing sprints, not to stay in shape, but for the sake of my sport (although I’m sure sprints have certainly helped to offset the post-holiday indulgences).

I love the “ping” sound from the contact between my racquet and the ball when I hit a crisp shot. I love the perfect rhythm from a 20-shot exchange against my hitting partner, and occasional opponent. I love the satisfaction of deconstructing my opponent’s game to uncover weaknesses – something that I rely on since I haven’t grown much since my middle school days. I love the satisfaction of a hard fought win and the culmination of all my training, from when I first learned how to hit a forehand until now. I love the game.

If I could give a second piece of advice, it would be to try new things. You never know when you’ll stumble upon your love (or in my case, second love after tennis). I picked up rock climbing after I graduated from college. While it was a bit more difficult to find tennis partners, and even more difficult to find courts in New York City, I happened to move into a gym with a rock climbing wall. On a whim, I tried it, thinking nothing more than, “it would be pretty bad-ass to tell people I tried rock climbing last night.” Since then, I’ve done more than tried. I have become a rock climber.

There are similarities between a rock climber’s and tennis player’s mentality. Both are solo sports, and both rely on athletic prowess as well as problem solving – at least for someone who lacks height and bulging muscles. Climbing is a catharsis for all the tension that builds up during my day. It’s a simple dialogue between the wall and me. I am completely focused as I look up at the mosaic of fiber glass holds dotting the walls of the indoor rock gym, plotting my route, visualizing where I will place my feet, and pantomiming the motions with my arms. Despite the dull throbbing in my arms that eventually creeps up, this is hardly exercise for me. I think not of how many calories I’ve burnt and how today’s climbing session will help to tone my arms (because it will), but of how I will make the next move. I deconstruct the puzzle similar to how I deconstruct my tennis opponent’s game. My petite five foot frame is far from ideal for a climber, so I concoct unconventional ways to climb routes: contorting of my stubby limbs, using lousy footholds as hand holds, and balancing and counter-balancing my weight. When I climb, I constantly test the limits of my strength and my belief in my own ability.  If I jump, can I not only reach, but “stick” the next hold long enough to reposition my feet to support my weight? Is my left arm strong enough to hold on while my right hand reaches for the next hold? Questions constantly flit through my mind.

Two hours later – of both climbing and tennis, I have to stop. Not because the digital timer and odometer has told me that I’ve burt enough calories for the day but because I am too sore to move, and because it is time for me to savor the accomplishments of the day. In a few days, I’ll go through this ritual again.