Navigating the nuanced path from disordered sport to a healthy routine.
Lea Krusemeyer (she/her) // Sports Editor
Scarlett Side (she/her) // Illustrator
For as long as I can remember, sports have been a part of my life. Growing up, I wasn’t just encouraged to stay active, I was expected to. Whether it was swimming lessons, gymnastics, Taekwondo or weekend tennis tournaments, my schedule was filled with activities designed to get me moving. It seemed like a good thing at the time. After all, exercise is supposed to be fun, right? But for me, it never felt that way.
From an early age, I was told I was overweight. It wasn’t always said with words, but it was there in the way relatives commented on my size, in the way coaches pushed me harder than others, in the way other kids teased me. Sports quickly became less about enjoyment and more about trying to fit into a mould I didn’t ask to be part of.
I threw myself into activities, hoping that the hours spent sweating would eventually translate into the version of myself I was told I needed to become. But no matter how many laps I swam, tennis tournaments I played and Taekwondo lessons I attended, the weight didn’t come off the way I was promised it would. The numbers on the scale became a measure of failure rather than progress, and every failed attempt at ‘fixing’ my body made me resent the very thing that was supposed to bring me joy.
Still, I didn’t stop. I stayed active because I thought I had to, not because I wanted to. Sports became a chore, an obligation, something I tolerated rather than embraced. I’d look around at people who genuinely seemed to love running or swimming and wonder what I was missing. How could they enjoy something that felt so tied to shame for me?
The turning point came last year, but not in the way I expected. It wasn’t because I found some magical sport or stumbled upon a workout routine that clicked. It was because I finally started to like my body as it was. After years of chasing an ideal that was never going to happen, I began to unlearn the idea that my worth was tied to my size.
This wasn’t an overnight transformation. It took time, a lot of reflection, and the realization that I had been sold the lie that my body needed to change to deserve love and respect. Once I started to see my body not as something to fix but as something to care for, everything shifted.
For the first time, I stepped into a gym without the weight of expectation. I wasn’t there to lose weight or to prove anything to anyone. I was there because I wanted to see what my body could do. I started small, trying exercises I used to avoid because I thought I wouldn’t be good at them. And to my surprise, I found myself enjoying it.
Zumba became a favourite. There was something empowering about watching my body remember routines, about realizing I could follow the instructor faster today than I could last week. It wasn’t about the scale or how I looked in the mirror. It was about feeling capable.
Running, something I used to dread, also began to change for me. I stopped focusing on how far or how fast I could go and started running just to clear my mind, Podcast on and thoughts off. With every step, I felt a little more in tune with myself.
What surprised me the most was how much joy I started to feel in these moments. The gym became a place of celebration rather than punishment, a space where I could push my limits not because I hated my body but because I appreciated it.
Looking back, I realize the problem wasn’t with sports themselves, it was with the narrative I had been handed about why I should do them. For so long, exercise had been framed as a means to an end, a way to achieve a ‘better’ version of myself. But now, I see it differently. Sports aren’t about fixing myself; they’re about celebrating who I already am.
Today, I feel at home in my body, and that has made all the difference. Sports have become a source of joy and connection, and a way to honour what my body can do rather than punish it for what it can’t. I wish I could go back and tell my younger self that she didn’t need to change a thing, that she was enough just as she was.
It’s taken years, but I’ve finally found the joy in motion. And for the first time, it feels like it was worth the wait.