Wednesday, March 14th, 2012
Masculinity is such bizarre concept to me. Mainly because sometimes I like to think I have a talent for embodying a modern day Davey Crockett, but other times (usually when resigning to other people’s definitions), I’m the fanciest lady-boy you’ve ever met.
While there is an endless list of characteristics that define “manliness,” one of the few that I think we can all agree on is sports and athleticism. Physical competition. Man-on-man tests of strength and will. Characteristics that some would say I embody pretty well 6 days a week during my triathlon training, but I still have close friends (who are very aware of my training schedule) say “Jamie – he isn’t that into sports.”
For whatever reason, my mind immediately goes to comparing myself to a 300 lb man watching football for hours alone in his basement, sucking BBQ sauce from between his fingers and leftover cheeto dust from his favorite team’s sweatshirt.
“Is this guy more masculine than me?”
I couldn’t tell you what channel number ESPN is on my cable box, or a damn thing about recent Red Sox or Patriots trades, or what the hell the Celtics are up to this season, but somehow that qualifies as just cause for dropping the emasculating quote “he just isn’t that into sports.” While never meant as even a direct attack on my manhood, it wouldn’t be that out of place to follow up with “he has such soft hands and is afraid of fast moving objects.”
It is something I’ve heard plenty in my life, and it doesn’t really bother me. More than anything else, it just confuses me. How exactly did Football/Baseball/Basketball monopolize all that is “sports.” Even Basketball is just over 100 years old, but somehow American culture has decided that athletic competitions that have been around for thousands of years should stick to the bench. How did the amount of time I spend watching Sports Center become tied to the strength of my manhood. And no, I’m not using that in a phalic way, but snicker if you must. I’m not going to try and bother to get through this post without a penis joke thrown in there for good measure.
The idea that I’m “not that into sports” isn’t something I’ve ever challenged, probably simply based on my confusion. It is hard to attack something when you have no idea where it is coming from. Drunk monkey kung fu style. Plus, my chosen sport has more spandex, shaved legs and neoprene body suits than a gay fetish porn, so I’d already start that discussion with an uphill battle ahead of me. Given the choice between questioning their word choice and ignoring the comment completely, I rarely find myself with the motivation or interest to tackle the former. So I’m stuck with the latter.
But more than just understanding what comes to mind when people think about “sports” and why, I’m always puzzled why that limited definition of “sports” seems to seep into people’s definition of “manliness.” I’m more fit than the average American guy (unfortunately not saying a lot), battle other guys to determine our physical supremacy on a regular basis and can grunt and scratch with the best of ‘em. But all of that is moot to many people because of my choice to workout in a speedo and shave my legs. Triathlon seems to have earned me as many “man points” as I would have gotten doing pole dance aerobics and “booty boot camp” classes at the local gym.
But one through process that this rambling stream of consciousness HASN’T brought me to is questioning my passion for swimming, biking and running. Being outside and getting sweaty.
Passion, commitment and confidence. Maybe I’ll start using those as my main definitions for “manliness” now on.
Or maybe my confusion around different definitions of “manliness” is really all rooted in my worries that people are questioning my love of BBQ sauce and cheeto dust and this entire dialogue has been horribly misguided…
Tags: manliness, masculinity, sports | Posted in Life, Triathlon | 7 Comments »
I 100% in the “train to race” category. While I love racing, testing myself and competing against the clock and others, it is nothing compared to the fun I have splashing through Walden pond as the sun sets behind me, hitting switchbacks on a hilly trail run or rolling for miles on quiet country miles on my bike. I’ll always add a few races throughout the season to keep me motivated, but given the option on any given weekend, I’d much rather spend a long day training with friends than slogging it out by myself on the race course.
