It's Useless To Resist: On Children's Sports Activities That Aroused Hate

A life 2023

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It's Useless To Resist: On Children's Sports Activities That Aroused Hate
It's Useless To Resist: On Children's Sports Activities That Aroused Hate
Video: It's Useless To Resist: On Children's Sports Activities That Aroused Hate
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Many parents believe that their children they must definitely go in for sports, moreover, the one that they have chosen themselves, without being interested in the opinion of the child. We talked with people who did not contradict the will of their parents for a long time, and found out how their sports life was arranged and whether they eventually managed to defend the right to do what they really want.

Text: Alexandra Koksharova

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Christina

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I was sent to sports several times: at the age of six to dance and twice to gymnastics - at five and at eight. It was my mother's idea every time. I don’t remember that she asked my opinion, but I don’t remember that I resisted either.

The lessons themselves never annoyed me, although they really demanded a lot from us, and everything turned out badly for me, but not that it somehow upset me. The problem was with the rest of the girls: in children's sections and circles, in an amazing way, children's attitudes are directly dependent on sports success. So if you are cool at gymnastics, then you are cool as a friend. But if you can't sit on the twine, do somersaults, or at least not get tangled up in this stupid ribbon, then being friends with you sucks. I remember that one day at gymnastics I burst into tears and began to wipe my face with my own T-shirt. She lifted herself up so that my chest was bare, and all the girls began to laugh at me. I don’t remember that the coach ever interfered with such ridicule. A few years later, we met with one of the girls from gymnastics at an art school. There they communicated with me in a completely different way: it turned out that in painting I do better than in tricks with hoops and clubs.

I don't remember being dragged to class by force. Of course, it was my mother's soft hand who wrote me down everywhere, but when I realized that I no longer wanted to go to sports, I told her about it, and gradually these activities disappeared. I was ten when I went to the pool of my own accord. I always liked swimming, and it turned out that in the sports section, where no one looks at anyone during training, the relationship develops better. We fooled around in the cold locker room, talked while drying our hair on the first floor by a narrow mirror, but in training we all swam separately and somehow could not even assess each other's abilities. We learned about who was swimming how only during control measurements, but did not attach any importance to it.

In high school, I went to the basketball team of the Lyceum, but this only confirmed that team sport is for people with a strong psyche and normal self-esteem. It is unlikely that all these activities taught me anything. Rather, they were convinced of their own inconsistency. So many years later, I still cannot go to any sport other than swimming, because subconsciously it seems to me that at any, even the simplest fitness, Olympic results will be expected from me.

Yura

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I was six years old when my dad decided to send me to judo. I remember that he came up to me and started a serious conversation about the fact that I need to engage in wrestling in order to be stronger. He also said that there I would learn how to hit and hit back correctly. I began to actively resist and say that I do not want to go to such classes. I now understand that I am against any kind of struggle in principle, even if it is in the format of training. Then I rather instinctively felt that I did not want this, not yet knowing what awaited me, but I had no choice, because I was simply presented with a fact. My father's iron argument, which he always used when I resisted, was: "Any man should play sports." No additional explanations were provided.

I don't have many memories from my childhood, but I have a very vivid one: my father drags me up the stairs to the subway to train, and I resist and fall.Then he grabs me and carries me in his arms. In the first year I had such tantrums especially often. When I refused, I was dragged by force. Mom tried to tell my father that it was not necessary to force me in this way, but it did not give any results. Then I realized that it was useless to resist.

In the first training sessions, we didn’t fight, we just tumbled and jumped. When we started to practice the blows, I made sure that I didn’t want to do this, after that I didn’t change my mind even once. More, of course, I didn’t like hitting than receiving, although there were some very unpleasant moments. I did not really understand in what case the struggle could help me as a means of self-defense, because I had absolutely no yard childhood and I tried to get out of any conflict without using physical force.

Once I was paired with a new girl who was twice my size. She threw me over her shoulder so that I began to lose consciousness. When I told my father about this, he said something in the spirit: "He will heal before the wedding." I did not support and did not talk to the coach, although I was expecting this. I have said many times that I do not want to go to fight, but my father remained adamant. After some time, he no longer dragged me by force, but used other arguments - he said that he would deprive me of my pocket money if I did not fulfill his demands. Thanks to pocket money, I could go out with friends, and this was the only salvation from what was happening at home. I also understood that my father would be very upset if I gave up the fight, so I continued to walk. This lasted six years.

After another unpleasant incident in training, I approached my father and said very harshly that I would no longer go to judo. I was very scared to tell him about it. I was also afraid to upset him and, of course, that he would simply refuse me, as he did before, but everything did not go as badly as I expected. He was upset, but gave me an ultimatum: I had to find an alternative to judo. The main thing is that there should be at least some semblance of practicing strikes. Apparently he was in a good mood.

I chose the first hand-to-hand combat section I came across in the school near my house and signed up there. The priest led the classes, and we prayed several times during the training. The plus was that no one there really followed the attendance, and I missed a lot. From time to time I just reported to my father about what we were doing there, he, in turn, saw that I was in good physical shape, that was enough. Then I realized that I wanted to go to volleyball, and told my father about it, but in response I heard that volleyball is an entertainment, not a sport. In the end, after two years I went to fitness, when I managed to convince my father that I could stay in good physical shape without a fight, but it took many years. Usually it is quite difficult for me to talk about my childhood training experience, it still seems to me that this is one of my childhood traumas.

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Catherine

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My mom dreamed that I would become a figure skater, because figure skating is her favorite sport. As a result, my mother brought me to the section. I went there for several months, but it soon became obvious to everyone that I did not have a sense of rhythm and smoothness of movements. I was not interested. It was boring for me to ride alone, drawing lanterns. But near our house, they poured an ice rink, and every day I ran there to see how the guys played hockey, and asked them to take me to the game. Grown men said: "Go and stay at our gates," and the boys kicked me out. I was offended, but shouted to them that someday I would learn to play and beat them all. I had my brother's stick, he was then playing for some courtyard club, but my brother was into hockey, so I used his stick at any time. I dreamed of hockey. It was not at all like figure skating: there was adrenaline, emotions, and a bunch of options for the development of events. You need to run fast, have good control of the club and at the same time constantly think and invent.

Once family friends told my mother that their daughter plays hockey and that a familiar coach is recruiting a children's team. Mom asked if I really want to play hockey, and I screamed that I really want to. Then the parents consulted among themselves and decided that if the child wants, then let him play. Dad had only one condition that I did not stand at the gate. Then, for my birthday, my parents replaced my fashionable figure skates with Dynamo hockey skates. There was no limit to my happiness.

When I came to the first training session, I was seven years old. It was very scary to lose my face in the mud. I never skated on level ice, and my skates were too dull for him. I fell endlessly - I didn't really know how to slow down. There were already eight girls in the team then, and they all skated a little better than me. I liked training and, in general, somehow immediately realized that I wanted to spend time with them. And I still remember that the coach asked me which number I would like to choose for myself. I was not ready for such a question and immediately replied that it was the seventh, but he was busy. Then I forgot all the numbers out of excitement. Only my birthday came to mind - August 15th. So I started playing at number 15. It lasted eight years. There was a time when we were the only girls' hockey team in Russia in our age category, and then we competed with the boys, sometimes we beat them.

When I turned fourteen, I was transferred to the professional adult team, where killer strength and endurance training began. Then I decided to finish hockey. Mom wanted me to grow up "feminine" and thought that figure skating would help me. And hockey helps to keep the whole body in good shape, because all muscle groups work. It also seems to me that hockey helped to develop character, perseverance, will to win, team spirit, leadership qualities and much more. I would not hesitate to give my daughter to hockey.

Sasha

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When I was seven years old, I was taken to practice sports ballroom dancing. It is not an Olympic sport, but like many others, it is quite grueling and very expensive. From the very beginning, this idea did not give me pleasure, I felt that dancing, especially with such a share of entourage, was clearly not for me. In competitions, I looked about as unnatural as a child model in a beauty pageant. Before each competition, I had to collect my hair in a bun with hairpins and pour in such an amount of varnish that the hair turned into a shell. You could probably have dropped a brick on your head and nothing would have happened.

The older I got, the more gimmicks I got. At some point, my mother said that my legs were too pale for competition standards, and she intensively sprayed them with self-tanning. I think I was twelve. Another year, and for different dances different dresses were needed: for waltz and foxtrot - long, for cha-cha-cha, jive and others - short. I disliked both of them equally: it seemed to me that acid green organza did not go well with dark blue chiffon. When, at one of the fittings, I informed my mother and the boy with whom we danced in pairs (although we fought more often than danced), he replied: "Actually, this is not to please you."

Almost constantly, I felt like a dummy, pulled by the elbows, and was terribly happy when I managed to slip out of training. I don't want to remember the methods of the coaches at all. It was quite normal to hit us in the legs with a ruler so that we performed the movements correctly, insult or comment on our appearance. Now I would not allow anyone to treat me like that. But what could I do about it then? I really didn't want to upset my mother with truancy, so I asked the universe to send me a deliverance from this horror. Sometimes it worked: the bus did not reach the desired stop, the coach fell ill, the thermometer dropped below a record low, but all these happy coincidences could eventually be counted on one hand.

Many times I asked my parents to stop and used, as it seemed to me then, rather convincing arguments: we did not have much money to spend on dances that I hate, I studied worse because I did not have enough time. But none of this worked. It seems that my dad sincerely sympathized with me, because one day after I with tears refused to leave the apartment, he said that I was punished and as a punishment today I would not go anywhere. Mom, it seems, did not really like this strategy, but I was still late for training.

It's amazing how quickly even the most hostile idea can penetrate a child's head. When I was ten, I was hit by a car. The first thing I asked the ambulance doctor, who was tying a splint to my broken leg, if I could get to the competition in a week. After that, I could not walk for almost a year. When the bone healed, I went back to dancing. Apart from this one-year break, I have been doing them for almost six years.

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