The Accidental Athlete
What makes someone a true athlete? Kirsten Nilsen finds out
by Kirsten Nilsen, posted on August 4th, 2010 in The Sports Issue
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I sat on the bleachers after school in the hot September sun, awkwardly folding long legs sideways to accommodate my backpack and gym bag. I looked around and enviously watched other thirteen year olds racing around on the field, most of them at least a head shorter than me. I hadn’t quite settled in to my new self: an eight-inch growth spurt that year sat uncomfortably on my frame, and at the start of seventh grade I could barely walk without tripping, much less run sprints in gym.
The coach walked purposefully over to me, whistle swinging, ball in hand. “Hey – Kristin is it? Kirsten? You ever played basketball?” I shook my head shyly, mouth closed over my full set of braces. “Well, we’d like you to try out for Junior Varsity. Can you stay after school today?” Thus began the illustrious career of an Accidental Athlete.
I wasn’t great at basketball: I was extremely tall, and therefore useful for blocking even if I made only one out of ten shots. But finding a place that welcomed the gangly and long-armed was hugely comforting, and I learned quickly that one could hide a lack of skill behind a measure of enthusiasm and willingness to participate. I made it through the season with a minimum of embarrassment.
Later the same year, I found myself in a new state, a new neighborhood, and facing a long summer without occupation. My mother signed us up for swim team, and though I’d spent almost every summer of my life in the water, I’d never swum competitively. I turned up for the first practice without a tricky Speedo, without goggles, but with those ridiculously long legs and a willingness to just jump in the water and swim hard. Swim hard I did—in the water I forgot all about now far-away friends, forgot about starting at a new school, forgot about not knowing a soul on this team. Once in a while I won a race, and I always did a double-take, certain the other swimmers had probably just disqualified.
Pool life got me through to high school, at a small school where you could try out for any team, and your chances for making it were good as long as you didn’t trip over your shoelaces. I went out for anything and everything – cross country in the fall, basketball and cheerleading in the winter, track & field in the spring. Again I made up for lack of innate ability with abundant enthusiasm for having something to occupy long afternoons. I cheered on teammates who were extraordinarily gifted. I learned that the beauty of an athlete in motion can stir you to tears. I ran alongside competitors in last place and chatted, safe in the knowledge that it wouldn’t be either of us winning the race.
I never once ended a game with the confidence that my efforts had secured a win. I never ever expected to win Most Valuable Player, and in fact encouraged my parents to stay home with their embarrassing video camera, insisting that I’d probably be on the bench the whole time anyway. But the other thing I never did was stop. I never quit practicing, and I never quit turning up to every blessed meet, race, or game with my whole heart ready to be there: I never quit playing.
So when I heard my name being called on graduation day—called to walk all the way to the front of the gym and accept a giant trophy for being “a leader on and off the field,” I couldn’t have been more stunned if they’d called me up to accept an Oscar. Words like living the spirit of the game and true sportswoman were used, and it was the very first moment in my life that I ever considered myself an athlete.
I was an athlete because I believed as much in in my teammates as myself. I was an athlete because I had figured out that each practice and each loss were just as important as the big win. I was an athlete because I loved the game. I was an athlete because I loved to play.
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