Lost Identity: Memories of a Sports-fan & Outdoor Adventurer

If you’ve known me in the “before times” of my life – as a child, a teen, or an adult – you know how central sports and outdoor activities have been to my life. They’ve given me release, joy, connection, and fulfillment. Newly acquired illness and disability from Long COVID, Myalgic Encephalomyelitis, and Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome after COVID-19 infection have changed that part of my identity, though. Fatigue, post exertional malaise, and postural, activity, and heat intolerances keep me from being physically active like I was. I am so far from the physically heavy job I worked, the sports I played, and the active life I led. Which brings up an important note as we get into the topic: This isn’t a pity party. It doesn’t make it “more sad” that I – a previously healthy and active young person – am sick. We must watch for ableism in our pity response or the societal-held belief that when young, previously abled-bodied, fit people become sick and disabled, it is more sad. My life before this wasn’t more valuable than another’s. And I’m not now less valuable than the young, abled, fit people out there. Our value as humans is tied to our existence. Period. Now that we’ve cleared that up, I’ll clarify that grief is okay, though. Being active, playing sports, experiencing the outdoors the ways that I used to – those things mattered so much to me. They were an integral part of my identity. They were ways that I coped with stress and overload. They were part of how I lived joyfully, enthusiastically, and gratefully. I don’t have them now. That is heartbreaking. It is something to grieve.

It’s hard to process that this could be forever; that this loss is likely permanent. It’s hard to imagine I’m unlikely to ever again run the lengths of a field for 90+ minutes. Or have my legs carry me to the views at the summit of a mountain. It doesn’t seem real that I might never again physically help a patient get out of bed for the first time after surgery or a health event. It’s like time stopped for me when I got sick. Like my life is simply on pause and eventually I will unpause it and continue on my way. As time goes on, that is less likely to be true in any way. My life is different now. There’s no going back no matter how badly I want those old parts of my identity. So, what now? Well, firstly, there are some ways that I can still joyfully explore and enjoy the outdoors. Also, I have wonderful memories and moments of pride to look back on and relive. Sports and outdoor adventures have been the context for many of the best moments of my life. My grief doesn’t mean I’ve lost those experiences. So I want to reminisce. I want to tell some of the stories of who I was…

I loved soccer (football, if you’re anywhere other than North America!) I dreamt that lofty childhood dream of growing up and playing professionally – or at least at a semi-competitive level. I didn’t start playing until I was 9 years old, but within that first season I’d already been scouted by the local rep team. I remember the excitement of going to the try out and showing off my raw talent. Of running drills with other girls my age; being among other talent and the excitement that gave me. The thrill of being noticed for something that came naturally to me, that I was motivated to get better at, that gave me more joy than anything else in my life at the time. It became a point of pain for me that my parents did not have the financial means to take it beyond the experience of the tryout. I would not play on a rep team until I was in my 20s, but through my teens, 20s, and into my 30s I had many amazing and wonderful sporting moments. Not being able to play rep soccer didn’t end up defining my athletic experiences or life like I’d worried it would. I am full of sporting stories and memories.

At 14 years old, in my first year of high school, one play in the city championship game would become a defining moment for me. My early years of soccer had me playing striker (my first ever soccer coach gave me the nickname, “Flash”!), but my high school coach recognized the fierce defender in me. He placed me in a defensive role – most often playing at fullback. Midway through that city championship game, my coach gave me a chance to shine. He pointed out their star striker, who was proving increasingly dangerous on the field, and instructed me to “stick like glue” to her. I was determined and committed to the task, and I gave it my all. Late in the second half, I followed the striker across the field from my right fullback position just as their midfielder switched the play to the left side of the pitch. The well-placed, crossed ball landed. We both dove in fast and hard. We were two players blazing with fearlessness, determination, and a love for the game – which channeled into a massive force as we connected with the ball simultaneously. I’ve often wondered: If we’d been bigger and stronger, would the ball have burst? It certainly felt like it could have! Instead, that force traveled through the ball, to my tibia, and resulted in a closed fracture. My high school team – the SCITS Blue Bombers – lost in PKs while I was delirious with pain in the ER with a broken leg. My first year of high school became characterized by that moment and the weeks and months following it. At first: collapsing on the soccer field while coaches and referees tied my ankles together to try to stabilize the fracture; literally crying out in pain the first times I stood up in hospital with my huge, thigh high cast and the blood surging down towards my freshly fractured tibia; sobbing alone in bed at home in those first few weeks as I wondered whether my sporting dreams were now finished. And then: breaking my leg in the championship game had me somewhat renowned in my high school. People knew me by the story, and by me hobbling awkwardly around on crutches through the halls. I was pretty hard to miss with my thigh high cast and my shy demeanor. Shout-out to my childhood best friend and her older sister, who drove me to school every single day because I could not access the school bus on my crutches. You try hopping up those 3 foot high steps without being able to bend your knee! Pfff. My first experiences with our inaccessibly built society. Then came the life changing road to recovery. This is when I first encountered the Physiotherapy profession. I had a young, female physio with curly blonde hair care for me in the outpatient department of the hospital. She helped me rebuild muscle in my teeny-tiny, flappy, atrophied leg (I could literally grab my quad by the handful and pull it up and away from my femur. It was a cool party trick for a few weeks.) Working with this Physio was the first time I thought to myself, “I think I want to be a Physiotherapist!” I later returned to that hospital for my first job as a Physio – fresh out of school after completing my MSc in Physiotherapy at Queen’s University. I worked in that same gym. In the same place that I first watched my quads contract beneath the buzz of the FES unit electrodes. I did my patient charting at the same desk I had watched those Physios use. I helped my patients on and off of exercise equipment in the same corner where I tried a stair stepper machine for the first time.

Returning to the field for my first season back to soccer after the injury was a bit scary. It’s hard to aggressively dive into a 1:1 for the ball when that’s what led to a fracture months earlier. It’s nerve-racking to commit to a slide tackle, or to smash the ball at an opposing keeper as hard as you used to, when you can feel the vibrations in your newly healed tibia. It’s both exhilarating and intimidating to run, jump, and cut with a newly healed limb. But it didn’t take long for me to return to my fearless self on the field. I’ve always played hard and with a lot of heart, and my first major injury didn’t squelch that. I played soccer – both outdoor and indoor – for years into my adulthood. I was also the student Athletic Therapist (AT) for the men’s soccer team when I was studying Kinesiology at Brock University. That experience was a formative part of my university years. It led to some lasting friendships, too. I traveled around southwestern Ontario with the team – caring for injuries, scribbling notes and recommendations on scrap paper for a player’s girlfriend when he sustained a severe concussion, and putting the boys in their place when they pushed me. I became a better player because of the time spent with them. I even played on intramural teams with a few of them – once winning the intramural championship! One fond memory I have is while standing near the bleachers during a practice, a ball came in hard and fast with a couple of the guys yelling “HEADS UP!” as it flew towards me. I trapped the ball with control and ease, and then laughed at their shocked faces and said, “What? I play soccer, too, guys…” Honestly, yes I play soccer, but it was also unintentional. A marriage of skill and coincidental timing that led to a perfectly trapped ball without a single bounce or wobble. I couldn’t have replicated it if I tried. Other fun memories include playing catch with a football and out-throwing them with my perfect spiral; getting dressed up for the annual Athletic Banquet or a casual night out, and pre-gaming with both the men’s and women’s teams together at a player’s house. And one of the most endearing moments for me during my time as a student AT was when they almost made it to Nationals. I was a female, student AT with a male sports team. My co-AT was male. The rule was that only one of us would go and it wouldn’t be me because I was female. Many on the team were outraged when they heard this. They offered up their rooms. They offered to pay for me to have my own room. They voiced their anger at the sexism of such a policy. That was a moment I truly felt a part of their team – which is one of the biggest joys of sports. If you’ve ever played a team sport with me, you’ll know how much it’s also about the other players. I can’t shut up when I’m out there. I’m constantly cheering on teammates; shouting encouraging words or suggestions for plays. I’ve never really been able to contain my joy and competitive spirit when playing a team sport – and why should I? It’s one context where I was able to more truly be my full, unapologetic self without any social repercussions. People are generally okay with a confident, enthusiastic, determined, animated, heartfelt female if it’s on a sports field. Anywhere else, it’s deemed “too much” – eye roll. I loved (almost) every minute of my time on those fields – whether on the sideline or right in the game, myself. I say “almost” because losing can be hard. And sometimes you come across a player whom you hate to play against or with. Also, my exercise induced asthma was brutal in my teens and 20s. Soccer was always the thing that triggered it worse than any other sport. I didn’t enjoy every minute of my time on the field.

Soccer was my main love, but I also loved throwing a perfect spiral in a touch- or flag-football game, making a surprising catch (reception or, even better, interception!), or evading hands as I twirled through a crowd on a run for the end zone. And I loved shooting free throws and three pointers on the basketball court. Although, I didn’t play basketball beyond age 13. The love of volleyball is one I found in my early-20s, when time spent with a couple friends teaching me to overhand serve and spike had me picking it up quickly like I did in almost every other sport. Beach volleyball became a second love. I have fond memories of playing on the courts at the back of the Bluewater Fun Park with childhood friends and their siblings. Shameless brag that those buds included Jill and Derek Drouin who are well-known for their jumping abilities… Needless to say, it was a blast to spend summers in the sun, sweat, and sand with those buds. Other sports I’ve loved include: broomball (on ice; no skates; hilarious and bruise-worthy); handball; baseball/slo-pitch (playing under the lights on a field of perfectly brown, sandy dirt and lush green grass was a highlight); rock climbing (indoor and outdoor! Never lead climbed or multi-pitched, but loved it immensely as a beginner all the same.) I played intramural sports and organized games throughout my university education. For instance, KIN Games: a Canada-wide competition between competing university Kinesiology students. I joined my fellow BrockU Kin classmates for a whirlwind, long-weekend trip to Halifax to compete at Dalhousie where we won the golden shoe! No – I was not one of the few who drank out of the shoe at the after party. I was unwilling to drink beer mixed with the old paint melting off of said shoe trophy. Ewww. Hmm…what else have I loved? I’ve gone zip lining and treetop ropes course-ing – an event I organized for my fellow Physio classmates at an outdoor park in Quebec, really just because I wanted to do it and didn’t want to go alone, so why not bring a bunch of pals? I’ve gone paragliding in Chilliwack, BC – watch out below! Alyssa gets motion sick and pukes in the air when paragliding. I’ve kayaked in the thousand islands near Kingston, ON; in mountain lakes outside of Prince Rupert, BC; in the Bow River of the Rockies near Canmore, AB. And I’ve summited more mountaintops than I can recall.

I have always been a book lover, and books often inspire dreams in children and adults alike. Two key books led to my dream of one day climbing a mountain: 1) Heidi – the Swiss children’s book about a girl living with her grandfather in the Swiss Alps and befriending her neighbours – a shepherd named Peter, and a disabled wheelchair-user named Clara; 2) an informational book (?NatGeoKids) on Mount Everest. I did not dream of climbing Everest. Any other smaller mountain would do, though. It became one of my first outdoor adventure “someday” dreams. As in: someday, I will climb a mountain. Being from flat, tree-heavy (love), water-surrounded (extra love!), Southwestern Ontario, climbing one mountain someday seemed possible but almost out of reach. Then, when I was 26 years old, I moved to Calgary, AB. Calgary is a 40minute drive from the Rocky Mountains. The first hike in the Rockies that I completed with two dear friends, Deanna and Stacey (remember when I said being a student AT led to lifelong friendships?!), was to Stanley Glacier just beyond the AB-BC border. The first summit I climbed was a quick, steep trek up to Ha Ling peak. After this, I realized that climbing mountains was more possible than I had understood. I also realized that my lack of fear of heights was a bit…scary. Looking over the edges of cliffs is exhilarating, my friends. Once I climbed those first couple mountains, I was hooked. I’ve hiked, scrambled, slogged, and scree-skied my way up and down many mountains, since.

In my 20s and 30s, I began to trade women’s soccer leagues for co-ed recreational soccer. Once weekly games, just for fun, with no practices, meshed better with my busy work life and varied interests. But for some reason, my co-ed soccer experiences in Calgary were different than my Ontario uni days – different, meaning more dangerous! It was coincidental, I’m certain. There are many skilled footy players in Calgary – I married one of them! But, playing co-ed soccer in my late 20s and early 30s too often became me playing survival on the field with men who didn’t know the game – guys who went for the body, first, instead of the ball; who dangerously threw their weight around and slammed me to the ground, instead of playing with actual skill. Soccer has slide tackling, but it’s not tackle football! So, that was quite an experience. Playing without a ref to keep them in line felt like I was taking my life in my hands! It was the wildest soccer I’ve ever played. I was experienced enough in the sport to anticipate them coming and elect to jump out of the way and let them have the ball instead of dealing with the impact of a ridiculous body-first foul that would never get called. My style of play was essentially this: Dude, you can have the ball – I’ll just take it back later. And I did. I generally held my own, but running into players like that eventually led to me taking a break from playing and deciding to no longer play co-ed rec soccer. Not long after, I sustained a back injury at work. That injury sidelined me for an entire year! Much of the rehab was giving it time. I went to physio and did my exercises – and those helped get me back to functioning and full duties at work again – but the thing that got me back to running, sprinting, cutting, and pivoting was waiting and giving my back time to heal. I was aching to get back on a field before my body was quite ready. Which has always been my usual way of recovering from sports injuries… so I sought out a women’s rep team and went to a tryout. Two steps into the first sprint I knew I’d re-aggravated my back. I pulled myself off the field and sadly left the tryout – remaining anonymous and unable to fully show my skills. That was my last time on a soccer field, sadly. However, I did make it back to flag football later that season. Stepping onto the field and being able to sprint, compete, and feel like myself again was glorious. And that season we won the league! That was in June of 2019. The next year the pandemic hit, halting all organized, team sporting activities (among many other things.) That didn’t stop me from hiking up some mountains in the summer of 2020, though. The last hike I went on was with Rohadi, sis-in-law Kira, her husband Jon, Auntie Allison, and cousin Kirk. I recall Auntie telling me I was a mountain goat. I cherish that comment. For one – I really love sheep. But more than that, it describes the way I’ve always explored the sports, physical activity, and the outdoors: freely, enthusiastically, joyfully, and bounding.

I’ve been ill with Long COVID for about 21 months, now – since January 2021. For much of the time, I haven’t reflected on the loss of sports and outdoor physical activity in my life. There’s a few reasons for that: 1) It has felt frivolous and less important to grieve this part of my identity – which is silly and unfair of me to think this way! But true, nevertheless. I have unfairly put that on myself that there are “more important things in life to grieve or think on.” ; 2) It hurts and I don’t know if I have the energy to grieve it right now. I don’t really want to grieve it. So, I keep it on the shelf and avoid thinking on it. I guess it’s a coping mechanism; 3) I’ve found ways to remain adjacent to activities I loved, such as spending time in the mountains in other ways: going for drives (as a passenger); doing short walks; fishing; visiting friends when they go camping. When I get my power wheelchair next year, it will become even more possible to enjoy the outdoors again (in accessible outdoor areas, that is). Another way to remain adjacent, is by watching sports. Watching sports on TV is complicated by cognitive and sensory exertion intolerance at times, but it’s still a past time I share on occasion with my spouse. Also, occasionally throwing a football for 5 minutes gives me that physical release I often crave – the perfect spiral; the over-the-shoulder catch; the pull-back, twist, and release of the throw. I made a few tosses & catches with Rohadi and Jon at a Gull Lake beach meetup this summer. Those 5 minutes (before my heart rate upped the anti of crash-risk too far) were exhilarating. “I’ve still got it.”, she says with a wry smile. Focusing in on other interests that I have rediscovered or newly discovered also helps to fill the void. I’ve always been a person with varied interests (ie. my main hobby is multiple hobbies.) I’m still able to hold onto pieces of myself which keeps me feeling tethered to who I was and am. And lastly, the 4th reason I haven’t thought on this particular loss very often: 4) A lot of this doesn’t feel real. Sometimes, on a good day, it feels like I could go out and play, run, and adventure. I know I’d have a quick and harsh reminder that I’m not well enough to do that if I were to follow that feeling, but this illness experience is like an out-of-body experience in many ways. An unreal, out-of-body experience that simultaneously is very much me being in my body and feeling the symptoms and the psychological weight of all of this. It’s a strange, contradictory thing. I cannot fully process that this is likely my life, now. Until a time of effective treatments and maybe a cure – which may or may not happen in my lifetime. Maybe it’s okay to be unable to process that. Maybe it’s okay to feel all those things or none of them. It’s okay to just be. This illness requires a moment-by-moment, day-by-day presence that requires me to just be – even when I sometimes let myself check out and get distracted from it all (a health coping strategy!) Somehow, even though I’ve changed so much, I am who I’ve always been. I am the lover of playing, competing, physically exerting, athlete-ing & sporting, and exploring nature and the outdoors. That still lives in me. She’s not gone. I still love her so much. I grieve this lost part of my identity. And I’m grateful for the places she’s taken me and the experiences she’s shown me.

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Sometimes I write as an educational tool. It helps me feel like I’m getting important information “out there”. Other times, I write for myself. More often than not, my blog is a place where I combine both of those. But this blog post, in particular, is for me. It’s rambling and reminiscent. It’s a little sad, a little joyful, a little funny. It’s been left far less altered and edited than my usual writings, which feels exactly right. We all need space to remember and celebrate the wonderful experiences of our lives. That’s what this is. Thanks for looking back at some well-loved sport and outdoor adventure highlights with me.