Sports

The Muffin-Top Pioneer

We are in the late seventies. I’m thirteen years old. I am a tank. Beautiful, but a tank.

I weigh most of 90 kilos (200 pounds) and it’s school swim sports day. Yippee. I’d rather hit my head with a hammer, but here I am. I don’t want to swim but I have no choice; it is mandatory. Rules of the private school. Everybody is in a swimming section. Everybody runs. I’m in the recovery section; the home of the geek, the uncoordinated and the fat man.

I am not fit. In fact, unfit would be a dramatic improvement. I aspire to ‘unfit’. I am ashamed. I’m ashamed. I long for the superpower of invisibility. I’m addicted to cartoons (and chocolate cake) and regularly fantasize about having my own special power. Flight and X-ray vision always gets a high rating, but at this point, invisibility seems kind of appealing. I outperform most of my teachers. My gut cascades over my bathers like ice cream spilling down the side of a cone. I’m a pioneer in muffin top, just on a slightly larger scale. I wear a t-shirt to hide my spaciousness (one word). A teacher approaches me.

“Harper, take off your shirt.”

I feel sick and anxious.

“But sir, I burn easily and have sensitive skin.”

“You can’t swim with that, take it off.”

“But I have no permission to do so, said the Doctor.”

“Do you have a note?”

Dejection. Be quiet.

“No sir.”

“Take it off, you’re swimming in a minute.”

I turn my back on the crowd and remove my shirt. I suck in my stomach. That will help. Twenty seconds later I can no longer hold my breath and my stomach cascades again. I walk to the starting area and wrap my arms around my waist in a futile attempt to hide what everyone can see clearly. I live up to my nickname; Jumbo.

The headline calls the misfits. The geeks, the uncoordinated and the fat guys ride the starting blocks. Besides me, there is another fat boy. Although, he’s not really in my league, chubby than fat. Fraud.

Something funny happens.

As I’m perched there on my starting block, for a second I forget my magnitude. For a moment, I forget how I look or what people might be thinking. Interestingly, I analyze my opposition. For the first time in my life, I think I have a long shot of “winning” some kind of sports competition. An unprecedented thought or experience for me. Of course I have no chance, but I am pleased anyway.

Somewhere deep in my totally unathletic subconscious, I hear these words, “what if?” I allow myself to dream for a second and, in the context of the moment and the situation, I experience a strange emotion; emotion. Fear, anxiety, and shame have been replaced by something much more powerful; expect. A bunch of misfits, swimming in a race that nobody cares about, and there I am, ready. Excited and hopeful. Good emotions. New emotions for me.

The kid who is chosen at the end of each sports team can smell greatness. Great for me anyway; everything is relative when you are fat and thirteen years old. Looking back, I’ve often wondered about the psychology behind allowing kids to choose their own outfits. Being there alone while the ‘captains’ of the team argue because none of them want you on their team, is not an experience that I wish on anyone. Some teachers weren’t that smart in the seventies.

The starter gun goes off and I have the reaction time of a cat. Maybe an old cat with arthritis. Incredibly, I am the first to enter the water. I amaze myself. I don’t even know what ‘the zone’ is, but I’m in it. For a moment, I am an Olympian. The splash of my plunge into the water shocks half the field. I do not mind. I create a tidal wave and make the other half surf in each other’s lanes. Okay, I made it up but it would have been fun. My fat little arms pump like pistons, and halfway through I lift my head and breathe for the first time.

To my amazement and everyone else’s, I’m winning. I’m winning the no-nonsense race. But for me and the other rejected ones, this is our moment. For us it is significant. Very. I’m not the only one trying. I look across the pool, and if effort and attitude mean anything, we are all world champions. What my “competition” and viewers have not taken into account is my secret weapon; maximum buoyancy. I am like a cork with legs.

As skinny kids struggle to stay afloat, my body fat allows me to lie on the water like a yacht in the ocean. I am a human flotation device. For the first time in my life, my body is giving me an advantage. As young and weedy kids struggle to not only make it to the bottom of the pool, but more importantly to avoid sinking to the bottom and drowning, all Jumbo has to do is boost his highly floating self. down the lane.

Another strange thing happens.

I hear cheers. And in the middle, my name. Another new thing. In fact, this is the story in the making. I slide over to the wall and knock … first. I watch my competitors fight to the end and I am as happy as I can remember. A lady with a pretty face pats me on the arm and says “well done young man.” I feel incredible.

When I get out of the pool, a man with a clipboard comes up to me and asks me something that I have never been asked: “Are you the winner?” In fact, it is a day of firstfruits. I love being asked that question. “Yes,” I say proudly. “Well done,” he replies. He takes my details, tells me my time, and sends me to pick up my tape first. Suddenly I’m not a fat kid anymore, I’m a winner and I’m on my way to getting my winner’s ribbon!

I love this feeling. This moment. I feel different. People pat me on the back. A teacher puts his arm around me and congratulates me. I love the attention, I love the compliments, and I love the encouragement. For a moment I feel normal. I have never felt normal in an environment like this. This feeling is better than chocolate cake, and that’s saying something. The social outcast feels acceptance. It is curative. It is addictive. It feels so good.

Not long after that day, I started training properly. I changed my diet, started running, and lost thirty kilos (66 pounds) over the course of about five months. And I learned many, many lessons along the way. About other people, about me, about potential, about self-confidence, and about the importance of love, encouragement, and support. I learned that often, the people who get the least attention and encouragement need it the most. I have always been aware of that and have tried to live accordingly.

During the last twenty-five years, I have done a lot of interesting things. I spoke around the world, worked in television and radio, met amazing people, created a great company, wrote for newspapers and magazines, but none of those things have given me the sense of accomplishment that I experienced that day thirty years ago. While I forget a lot about what I did over the past two decades, I can remember that day and everything about it with absolute clarity. Every detail. Every feeling. Every emotion. It was a defining moment for me.

As an adult, I have learned that, on some level, we are all overweight, insecure kids who crave attention, love, encouragement, and support. I have also learned that giving those things hurts both the giver and the recipient; it is healing for both. Every day you and I have the opportunity to notice those who don’t realize it, love those who aren’t loved, embrace those who aren’t hugged, and encourage and support those who are emotionally starving in a sea. of humanity. We have the opportunity to make an incredible difference with a few simple words and a few minutes of our time.

We are going to do that.

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