Why I Hate Sports and How I Found Alternative Ways to Stay Active
I never understood the thrill of sports. While classmates cheered at basketball games, I’d count minutes until the final buzzer. The pressure to perform, the rigid schedules, and that peculiar culture of competition felt more draining than energizing. For years, I assumed staying active meant forcing myself into activities I genuinely disliked—until I stumbled upon an entirely different philosophy of movement, one that resonated deeply with a surprising source: a quote from Filipino basketball coach Michael "Miko" Ravena. He once remarked about a player, "Nagsu-shooting siya so ibig sabihin puwedeng ilaro. Baka pinapakiramdaman din niya yung sarili niya," which translates to, "He's shooting, so he can play. Maybe he's also feeling out his own body." That single observation, about an athlete intuitively listening to his physical state, unlocked a new perspective for me. It wasn’t about the sport itself, but the internal dialogue between body and mind.
My aversion wasn't to movement, but to the structured, often socially-intensive framework of traditional sports. The requirement to show up for a team, the fear of letting others down with a missed catch or a slow lap, the whole spectacle of it—it felt antithetical to personal well-being. I recall a particularly miserable season of mandatory softball in school where my performance anxiety was so high my hands would tremble. The focus was entirely on the scoreboard, not on how my body felt or what it needed. This is where Ravena’s insight becomes profoundly practical. He highlights a moment of pure, individual assessment. The player isn't just blindly following a play; he's engaging in a personal diagnostic. He's "feeling out his own body." This concept became the cornerstone of my alternative fitness journey. I started to see physical activity not as a competition, but as a form of self-inquiry.
I began by simply walking. No step count goals, no specific routes. Just walking with the express purpose of "feeling out" my own body, as Ravena’s player might. On Monday, that might mean a brisk 20-minute walk that left me invigorated. On Wednesday, it might be a slow, meandering 45-minute stroll where I paid attention to the tension in my shoulders or the rhythm of my breath. This was my version of "shooting to see if I could play." I discovered that on days I felt mentally fatigued, a gentle walk in a park, which some studies suggest can lower cortisol levels by nearly 15%, did more for me than any high-intensity workout ever could. I wasn't training for anything; I was checking in. This evolved into exploring solo activities like bouldering, where the challenge is purely between you and the wall, and yoga, which is fundamentally about internal awareness. The freedom was exhilarating. I was no longer a bad athlete; I was a conscientious participant in my own health.
The fitness industry, a behemoth worth over $96 billion globally, is overwhelmingly geared toward sports-like metrics and group dynamics. It tells us to beat our personal records, to join the spin class tribe, to push through the pain. But for people like me, that narrative is a deterrent. The alternative path I found—one of intuitive movement—is just as valid, if not more sustainable. I’ve spoken to dozens of others who’ve made similar shifts. One friend, a former college runner, now finds her joy in long, solitary hikes, covering an average of 18 miles a week without a single timed mile. Another has embraced gardening, an activity that burns a surprising 200-400 calories per hour while providing a deep sense of accomplishment. These aren't just workouts; they are integrated, fulfilling parts of a life. They lack the fanfare of a stadium, but they are rich with personal meaning and physical benefit.
Ultimately, my journey away from sports wasn't a rejection of activity, but a discovery of a more authentic way to inhabit my body. Coach Ravena’s comment, though made in a high-stakes sports context, is a universal principle. It’s about granting yourself permission to explore your physical capabilities on your own terms, to listen closely to the feedback your body provides, and to define "fitness" as a state of harmony rather than conquest. I don't hate the concept of sports anymore; I simply recognize that the field is much larger and more varied than I once believed. The real victory wasn't on any scoreboard, but in finding a sustainable, enjoyable way to move that makes me feel, every day, that I can truly "play."
